


Promises and Regrets

by Raicheru



Series: The Wood [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (And I mean Loooong Separation), (But it doesn't end here- Stay Tuned), (More Angst than I originally intended), (Seriously. This is all about Jaskier.), AU- Cannon divergence, AU- Modern Setting Mixed with Canon Fantasy Setting, Alternate Character Origins, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Book/Show/Game Lore, Canon-Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Cigarette Smoking, Depression, Destiny, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Found Families, I Really Meant to Have a Happy Ending, Jaskier Whump, Jaskier-Centric, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Mild Alcohol Abuse, Mild Prescription Drug Use, OOC Behavior based on Alternate Character Origins, Original Character(s), Playing Fast and Loose with Canon Geography, Relationship Talks, Separation, “Kidnap the Bard” Newsletter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 96,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: Two years have passed since the festival in Vizima, and Jaskier has found a better balance with Geralt.  But an impromptu trip up a mountain opens up the chasm between them even farther, leaving Jaskier alone with no lute and no Witcher.  He doesn't feel he has anywhere to go and he refuses to risk suffering the loss of anymore loved ones.  So he hides in Ard Carraigh and abandons all remnants of the new life he'd started.  Destiny, however, will not be thwarted so easily and he reluctantly returns to try again.  But shortly after returning to the Wood, he's drawn back into a conflict in Cintra he thought had passed him by.Takes place after 'Fesitval Song'.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Wood [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794649
Comments: 365
Kudos: 222





	1. Reason Among the Unreasonable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the new year Dear Readers. I hope you had an enjoyable holiday. It was a hell of a year for everyone and irony or ironies, the last official fire department call for 2020 in my area was literally a dumpster that was on fire in an alley. It gave me a good laugh. 
> 
> As mentioned in the summary, I'm sending them up the mountain. Apologies to to anyone who's already read their fill of fix-it fics based on Netflix Episode 6, Rare Species. I never thought I'd write one myself. But while I will be retelling the episode and working in details from the books, there will be differences based on things that have happened in The Wood Universe and things that have yet to come. (I'm handling it the same way I did all of the other scenes that I've used so far.)

Autumn was coming. The air was starting to get crisp in the evening as summer faded into fall. Two years had passed since the festival in Vizima. Essi and Brett had been married for a year now and would be celebrating their first anniversary soon. They were planning on settling in Oxenfurt somewhere near Shani, and they were currently splitting their time between traveling while Essi sang and working at the University during the winter. Jaskier was looking forward to seeing them again. He and Geralt tried to swing by on their way to Kaer Morhen each fall.

Jaskier sighed. He and Geralt were better now. They'd come through the other side of the difficulties they'd been having since Rinde. But Jaskier still felt that odd stretch of distance between them that he didn't know how to bridge. And he still wasn't sure where they were going in the future. It hadn't bothered him so much in the beginning. Everything had been too new, each experience the first of many. But now there was routine and a stretch of years before them. How would they fill the time?

Jaskier was currently sitting on a rock with his lute in his lap and his notebook next to him. He was trying to work out the lyrics of a song while waiting for Geralt to come out of the nearby hole he'd crawled into. A Basilisk had been eating livestock in the local village, and a week before they arrived, it had graduated to killing people. The alderman and the local butcher were standing nearby, arguing about how long it was taking Geralt and what they should do about it. Jaskier was only listening with half an ear, but he looked up from his notebook when the alderman started digging in Geralt's things. “Um, _excuse_ you.”

“Mind your own, Bard,” the butcher said as he loosened the ties on the saddle bags.

“You see, this isn't how hiring a Witcher works,” Jaskier said as he stood and set his lute carefully aside. “He agrees to kill your monster and in return, you pay him money. You don't steal his things. . . “ Jaskier huffed, at a loss of what to do when they grabbed Roach's reins. “Or his horse,” he finished lamely. He wasn't going to try pulling his dagger on them. He didn't think they'd be all that intimidated. The rather large knife at the butcher's belt looked well handled. “You can't do this.”

“Our bargain was with a live Witcher, not a dead one,” the butcher said. “And he's most likely carrion by now.”

“Indeed,” the alderman agreed. “We're taking this to pay someone who can actually get the job done.”

“I wouldn't, if I were you,” a new voice said. 

Jaskier turned to see a short, older man in a leather vest watching the two men peacefully.

“And who might you be, Grandpa?” the butcher asked as he shouldered the saddlebags. 

“A friend of the Witcher you so willfully intend to rob.” The man's voice was pleasant, and there was an easy confidence to him. He wasn't at all intimidated by the two men even though he appeared to be unarmed. 

“I'm sorry, have we met?” Jaskier asked him, baffled by his sudden appearance. When the man turned to him, a flash of gold flooded Jaskier's vision and he sat back down heavily, like his legs suddenly didn't want to hold him up anymore. His heart started to pound. What the hell? The man was smiling at him gently when he vision cleared. 

“Steady, my boy. All will be well,” he murmured before turning back to the two would-be thieves. “I'll have you return the Witcher's things now.”

“Who's going to stop us? An old man and a gutless songbird?” The butcher drew his knife and brandished it.

The old man smiled again as two lithe, dark-skinned women in armor prowled forward to stand at his side. One of them had multiple smaller braids bundled together to hold them out of her face and the other had a single thick braid trailing down her back. Both had swords. “My bodyguards will handle it,” the man said calmly.

“What's this then, your-” the butcher didn't finish as the woman with multiple braids stalked forward and kicked him sharply in the groin, making him fall to his knees and drop his weapon. Jaskier winced in sympathy and then shouted in surprise when she quickly snapped his neck with a twist of her hands. The sickening crack of it echoed off the stones. Jaskier swallowed convulsively, as his breakfast threatened to momentarily reemerge. 

The alderman squeaked and dropped the reins immediately. Roach moved calmly back to where she'd been standing to continue grazing on a dry patch of grass, unconcerned by what was happening. The alderman put his hands up and carefully moved away from the horse. He swallowed hard when he realized he'd have to walk past the women to get out of the ravine. He jumped when a misshapen, severed head flew out of the hole landed on the ground a few feet away. 

Geralt pulled himself over the lip of the hole, only pausing briefly to scan the area, before hauling himself out onto solid ground. He was a little dusty and his hair was disheveled, but he appeared to be uninjured. 

“What's going on?” he rumbled.

“She just killed a man for trying to steal your horse,” Jaskier said, as he stood and gestured to one of the bodyguards. 

“At least someone was willing to keep an eye on things,” Geralt muttered.

“Oi.” Jaskier put his hands on his hips, severely put out. “What would piss you off more, someone stealing your horse, or me getting myself stabbed because I tried to stop them? It's not like I've gotten any better with a knife or anything.”

Geralt sighed, not answering as he and went over to the alderman, nudging the severed head so it rolled over to the man's feet. “The Basilisk is dead, I'll take what I'm owed.”

“No harm meant, Master Witcher,” the man said with a quaver in his voice as he pulled out a pouch with shaking fingers. When Geralt hefted it in his palm and raised a brow, the alderman scrambled in his pockets for more before handing over a second pouch and retreating. As he passed the second woman with the single, thick braid, she snarled and snapped her teeth at him. He made a small frightened noise and started running. The girls smiled at each other before settling on either side of the the older man who'd been watching the scene play out with apparent amusement.

“Who are you?” Geralt asked as he picked up his saddlebags from the fallen butcher and put them back on the horse. 

“I am Borch Three Jackdaws, and I've been looking for you, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt glanced at him before looking askance at Jaskier. 

“Don't look at me. I have no idea what's going on. They just showed up and we haven't exactly had time to chat,” Jaskier said, glancing at Borch again. He couldn't see the golden glow anymore. Whatever it was, Borch had hidden it away. He just looked like a man now with kind eyes, graying hair, and a well kept beard.

“These are my bodyguards from Zerrikania, Tea and Vea,” Borch continued. “Come with me towards Barefield. I have a proposition for you.”

Geralt led Roach toward the entrance of the ravine. “What is it?”

Borch fell into step beside him easily and Jaskier had to quickly pack up his things to catch up. He tried to walk beside Roach, but the baleful glances from the Zerrikanians had him adjusting his stride so he ended up trailing behind them. Well, really. 

“I find that conversations are best had over a good meal,” Borch said as they walked along. “There's a tavern called The Pensive Dragon that serves a tasty soup full of delightful morsels.”

“We're not headed in that direction,” Geralt said as he mounted. Turning in the saddle, he held his hand out to Jaskier who blinked up at him in surprise. It wasn't often he was invited to ride and he scrambled forward to let himself be pulled up behind the saddle. 

“Are you sure you won't reconsider?” Borch asked.

“Not unless you state your business clearly.” When Borch didn't reply, Geralt urged Roach forward out of the ravine. Oddly enough, Borch didn't really look all that disappointed. Jaskier felt an odd tug in his middle as they started riding away, leaving the strange man and his bodyguards behind them. 

“Barefield isn't that far out of the way,” Jaskier said as he settled and wrapped his arms around Geralt's middle. “And we'd get a decent meal out of it.” They were currently somewhere south of Barefield and there weren't very many villages with good inns or taverns in the area between here and Yspaden where they were headed next. 

“Autumn is setting in. We should be heading south.”

“Which is why we have warm clothing with us. But it's not that cold yet.” The red embroidered fabric of Jaskier's doublet and trousers was lined and it kept him fairly warm even when it was chilly. Elihal had been pleased with the fabric Jaskier had brought home from the festival a couple years ago. He saved the outfit for special occasions and for traveling when it was cooler. But he was warm enough now. “What harm could it do to hear him out?” 

“That's the worst question to ask,” Geralt grumbled. “We have no idea what he's going to ask of me. People who are unwilling to be honest up front are usually hiding something.” 

Borch was definitely hiding something, but Jaskier didn't share what he'd seen. It was too vague to describe. “You're the one who's been bitching about not being able to find work lately,” he said instead. “And we'll never find out what he wants unless we go with him.”

“Need I remind you of what curiosity did to the cat?”

“Wow, you really are ruffled.”

“I don't know what you mean.” Geralt's relaxed posture was starting to stiffen against him.

“Well, you usually give me some kind lecture from your Witcher training. You're kind of scraping the bottom of the barrel if you're dragging out rubbish idioms.”

“You're going to keep nagging me about this, aren't you?”

“Oh, probably. I'll get tired of it eventually, but until then, you'll just have to suffer through it. I don't think I've seen a Zerrikanian warrior in action before. She was incredibly fast.” Ephrema, the Baroness of Hamm, was from Zerrikania and she'd traveled to the Northern Kingdoms with her father, who was a trader. But she was far more delicate and refined than the two women who had prowled into the ravine looking ready to take on an army. With the way they moved, he figured their swords weren't just for show. “I'm really curious about what he needs a Witcher for with that kind of fighting power on his side. Surely they could take care of whatever it is.”

“Jaskier.”

“What?” Jaskier noticed that they'd stopped despite Geralt trying to urge Roach on. 

“Fuck.” 

“Right now? In the middle of the road? Really, Geralt. Roach carries us both easily enough for a short time, but I think she might protest if we-”

“ _Jaskier._ ”

Jaskier chuckled at his exasperated tone. “Maybe she's curious too. And you're never going to force her to go somewhere she doesn't want to go.” As if demonstrating his point, Roach reached around to nip at Geralt's knee to get him to stop prodding her.

“I hate it when both of you agree on something,” Geralt muttered as he turned her around. She went agreeably once they switched directions and he sighed again. Jaskier just laughed and tightened his arms around him. 

When they got back to the ravine, Borch and his bodyguards were waiting where they'd left them like they'd fully expected them to come back. 

“I'll come to the tavern,” Geralt told him. “But I'm not promising anything until I've heard what you have to say.”

“That's a fair offer. Let us move on before the day wanes any further.”

*******

It was early evening by the time they reached The Pensive Dragon. It sat at a crossroads and it appeared to be busy even from the outside. There were several laden carts and a lot of horses picketed outside. People milled around in small camps along the roadside and there was a steady trickle of people going in and out of the large building. 

Inside, Borch secured them a table and ordered an obscene amount of food and drinks. Jaskier raised a brow but didn't say anything as he settled in a seat by the enormous hearth that had been carved to look like a Dragon's toothy maw. By the time he'd shucked his doublet and they were comfortably full and soft from drinking, Borch turned to Geralt and started talking to him about mortality and the value of having new things to do in a long life that was lacking in experiences that hadn't already been savored. 

Jaskier sat quietly with his beer, tapping the ring on his index finger on the side of his tankard until Geralt reached over without looking to still him. He felt the warmth of the other man's hand on his and sighed. All this talk of mortality and aging was making him maudlin again. What would he and Geralt be to each other in ten years? In twenty? What would they be doing a hundred years from now? He didn't know. He never thought he'd live that long.

“Golden Dragons are a myth,” Geralt said, snapping Jaskier out of his thoughts. 

“They are real, my dear Witcher.” Borch sat back with his own tankard and raised it to take a long swallow of ale. “But it's not a Golden Dragon we'll be hunting. It's a green one.”

“I don't hunt Dragons.”

“What kind of Witcher doesn't hunt beasts and monsters?” Borch asked him. 

“Dragons are intelligent. It's not for me to end the life of a being that can reason.”

“But you have killed men,” the other man reminded him.

Geralt's expression darkened. “Who weren't at all reasonable.” 

“But you and I won't be the only ones going up the mountain in search of the Dragon.” Borch started telling him about the offer from King Niedamir of Caingorn to kill the Green Dragon that had been spotted in the mountains around Barefield. Several interested parties were going to hunt for its supposed treasure trove and others were after the Dragon itself, as several of its organs and body parts were quite valuable. The idea of chopping up an intelligent being and selling bits of it for money made Jaskier feel ill. 

“But Caingorn is a Modern City,” Jaskier said, speaking for the first time since they'd sat down. “What does Niedamir want with a dragon? It would be of no use to him in the city.” Except as a trophy, he thought with distaste.

“I believe he thinks it will bring him renown among his peers and further his political ambitions,” Borch said, his tone unimpressed. “He's young, but it's rumored that he already has his eye on Malleore.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Malleore is run by a democratic council. They'll never allow a monarch to take over without a fight.” And that fight would kill a lot of people. Modern warfare was different than wars fought in the Wood, but they were no less deadly. 

“Be that as it may,” Borch continued. “Here and now, there is a dragon being hunted. The political maneuvering of kings and councils does not concern me.”

True enough, Jaskier thought. He didn't care about any of that either. Looking around the room, he glanced at the groups Borch started pointing out. The Reavers were a rough bunch who put Dwarven lack of decorum to shame, and they had none of the joy. Loud, blatantly rude, and covered in tattoos, they were the sort that Jaskier would avoid on a good day and he hoped never to cross them. One of them had a barmaid in his lap and his hand was deep up under her bodice. She didn't seem to mind, but it was a tawdry display in a tavern that didn't seem to cater to that kind of entertainment. 

When the Reaver caught Jaskier looking, he winked at him and blew him a messy kiss. Jaskier swallowed and looked away, trying not to appear intimidated as he fought the urge to slide closer to Geralt. As forward and flirtatious as he could be himself, he wasn't completely stupid. The man oozed danger and didn't seem to have any inhibitions at all.

But the Dwarves who walked in the door were another matter entirely. Jaskier felt his spirits lifting immediately when he saw Yarpen Zigrin and his boys come inside, all full of laughter as they slapped each other on the back and headed to the bar. Jaskier excused himself to go over when Yarpen hopped up onto the bar and started arguing with the bartender. 

“He said: _Four. Pints!_ ” Yarpen barked as gripped the man's lapels.

“How is he supposed to pour your beer when you're shouting at him?” Jaskier asked as he leaned casually against the bar next to him.

“Jaskier!” Yarpen beamed, his fury melting into surprised joy as he hopped down to wrap his arms around him in a back-cracking hug. 

Jaskier chuckled as his toes left the floor briefly. Reaching out to snag the bartender's sleeve before he could slink away, he passed a few coins over.

“Four pints and whatever else they asked for.” He held the man's gaze until he took the money and headed for the taproom. 

“Don't be a cock, ya daft bird. We can pay fer our own drinks,” Yarpen said with a hard slap to Jaskier's back. 

“Of course you can, but this way you can avoid getting thrown out before you get a chance to start drinking. Tell me how you've been since I last saw you and we'll call it even.”

“You could have had that for a song.” Yarpen barked a laugh. “No pun intended but that was pretty fuckin' good.” He grabbed the tankards the man brought and passed them round before raising his. “To old friends becoming reacquainted.”

Jaskier raised his own and drank before they settled at another table. He hadn't seen the Dwarves since Geralt defeated a Noonwraith in Gelibol years ago. Afterwards, they'd come to Jaskier's rescue in a rather timely manner. 

“Please tell me you're not after the Dragon.”

“And why not, eh? You have any idea what kind of prize is on the table?” Yarpen took a long drink and brought the tankard down on the boards with a sloshing thunk. “Niedamir is offering a Kingly sum for the dragon's head and we could do for a decent payday for once.”

“Not much luck in hunting lately?” Jaskier asked him. 

“It's alright. But Dragons are rare beasts these days. It's said there's not many that survived the conjunction.” Yarpen took another drink and wiped his mustache. “This would set us up handsomely for some time. Might actually think about retirin' and settlin' down somewhere like Lucas. This'll be his last hunt before he gets himself married right and proper.”

Once again, Jaskier thought about what the future might hold. It seemed he couldn't avoid it. While he'd once delighted in the fact that he would live a long life so he wouldn't leave Geralt alone after a short mortal existence, he was starting to consider the downside. While he was technically forty three years old now, he still felt like he was in his twenties. But he wasn't sure how long that feeling would last. How would the weight of years affect him? Would he even remember all of it? There were huge chunks of his childhood that were missing from his memory because he'd been experimented on as a child by the man who pretended to be his father. Gods, he hadn't thought about that shit in years. Taking another drink of ale, he tried not to dwell on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After working on this for a while, I worried that it would turn out like the third season of a good television show where suddenly everything went off the rails and changed the tone. But I'm happy with it now that I've had some time to edit and appreciate where I was going. I got the characters where I intended them to go even though they kept switching directions on me occasionally. 
> 
> I have never had so much anxiety about a piece of writing before. For a while, I was convinced that everyone would hate what I wrote and it took a long time to get over that. But I'm glad I pushed through it and got to the other side. To anyone else that has those kind of troubles, hang in there. You're not alone. Write what makes you happy and take the story where you want. Let your characters guide you.


	2. Of Speculation and Uncertainty

When Jaskier returned to the the table with Geralt and Borch, they had moved on to other topics. Borch regarded Jaskier thoughtfully when he sat back down.

“It appears that Geralt isn't interested in Dragons,” he said, sounding mildly disappointed. 

Jaskier shrugged. “His contracts are his choices.” He saw Geralt tilt his head and give him an incredulous look around a mouthful of beer. Jaskier ignored him. Yes, he'd goaded him into coming here, but mostly it was because he'd been hungry. “Despite how I promote his skills,” he continued. “I don't actually accept the contracts for him. Sorry.”

“Even when the company is so enticing?” Borch might have meant the Zerrikanians that had been giving Geralt increasingly suggestive looks the more they drank. But as he finished the sentence, Yennefer walked in.

Jaskier hadn't seen her since she'd abandoned him in Rinde and left him with Geralt's dead body. He was _not_ having any of her bullshit today. “Oh, we are so not-”

“I'm in,” Geralt said.

“Fuck,” Jaskier muttered. He felt the tie between Geralt and Yennefer tightening like a rubber band stretching between them that thrummed with tension and power. Jaskier wanted to snip the damn thing. With a giant pair of magical scissors. 

A lance of pain speared him between the eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he slammed the doors of his mind tightly shut. Across the room, Yennefer smiled. He'd gotten careless. Triss had come to visit Kaer Morhen last winter and she'd been helping him work on blocking mental intrusions, but he didn't always remember to keep his guard up. He didn't think Yennefer had actually been looking for anything. She was probably trying to make some kind of point.

Geralt didn't seem to notice the exchange as he watched Yennefer go to the bar. He was staring at the man with her, who was wearing a tabard that was worn, but clean. His posture was straight and noble, and he regarded the room with distaste as he escorted Yennefer to a seat in the corner. He seemed displeased by the company, but willing to put up with it for her sake. Honor and piety. Oh, joy. What the hell was he doing with Yennefer? She smiled sweetly up at the man and Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Who's the holier-than-thou idiot?” he asked.

“Sir Eyck of Denesle,” Geralt growled. “Good with a sword and quick enough to get the upper hand on a Manticore and a Griffin. Heard he killed a dragon too. But the pious prick doesn't take any money because he doesn't think it's honorable. I've lost more than one contract to him in Redania.” 

Jaskier wasn't convinced that his ire was solely because of losing contracts. But he wasn't sure if Geralt was mad at Eyck or at Yennefer, who was obviously simpering for the knight on purpose. She certainly wasn't that sweet naturally, and he doubted she'd bother unless it was going to get her something. She didn't look in their direction, but it was like she was putting on a show for their benefit. She had to know Geralt was here. He always knew when she was nearby.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jaskier turned to Geralt who was still staring at Yennefer.

“Hn.”

Great. He'd lost him. Jaskier slumped down at the table and drained his tankard. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this. 

“Well,” Borch said, patting his middle. “I shall be retiring for the night. Tomorrow will be the start of a grand adventure and the last of many firsts. I thank you for accompanying me.” Getting up, he patted Jaskier on the shoulder. “Take heart, my boy.” He leaned down to speak quietly in his ear. “The path may be difficult, but the reward will be worth it.” And then he was heading for the door. 

Jaskier frowned and watched him go as Tea and Vea followed him. He wasn't sure what he meant, and the words echoed oddly inside him even though he couldn't feel any magic. Weird. 

*******

The next morning, they joined the long procession of wagons and horses on the road as they headed northeast up into the mountains. It started out easily enough, but it soon became a slow and laborious process to get the vehicles through the narrow mountain roads. After two days of slow going, they pulled into a wide clearing and everyone started unpacking the wagons. It was barely past midday, so they couldn't be stopping to camp.

“What's going on?” Jaskier asked as he jogged up to Yarpen's wagon. Geralt was too busy watching Yennefer and Eyck to answer any of his questions lately. It was really starting to get on his nerves. 

“We'll be leavin' the wagons here and heading up the rest of the way on foot.” Hopping down, Yarpen moved around to the back where Paulie's younger brother Regan was handing down loaded packs. 

“On foot, as in, no horses?” Jaskier looked back to see Geralt picketing Roach nearby. Jaskier was carrying his lute and his pack, but some of his supplies were in the saddlebags. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to carry everything. Shit. 

“To be honest, I was surprised you decided to come with us. You don't seem the mountain climbing type,” Yarpen admitted.

Jaskier climbed up mountains every fall to get to Kaer Morhen, but so did Roach and she carried a lot of his crap. The longer he spent in the Wood, the more things he acquired. It was becoming increasingly difficult to pare down the items he thought he'd need when they went out on the road. “It wasn't my first choice. I'm just tagging along at this point.” But why _was_ he here, exactly? It had never occurred to him to stay behind, but he could have waited at the tavern. There were a few rooms, and once the hunting parties moved out, he could have stayed there comfortably. 

Yarpen leaned in a little. “Since you are here, keep yer wits about you, lad. We're traveling with some shady fucks, and I'll be damned if I let you get hurt by the likes of them.” He nodded at the Reavers that were checking an impressive array of weapons. “No scruples, them. They'd as soon slit your throat as shake your hand if it suited them.”

“I'll be careful.” Jaskier was already wary of them.

“All the same, you should stick with me an' the boys. Geralt seems to be a bit preoccupied just now.” The Dwarf sniffed and spat loudly as he raised his voice. “He's been paying a lot of attention to the witch.” 

“What's wrong Mr. Zigrin?” Yennefer asked as she paused beside them. “Feeling outclassed?”

“I was just about to ask you the same. Yer not exactly known as a hunter, Yennefer.” Yarpen leaned back to look behind her where Eyck was securing his horse and checking his gear. “But then I see you brought your own muscle, such as it is,” he muttered.

Eyck came over and looked down on the Dwarves with mild distaste. “My Lady, you need not socialize with such as these.”

“If I were you, I'd be more worried about the company _yer_ keepin'.” Yarpen told him. “That's no lady.”

Yennefer watched the Dwarf passively as Eyck bristled and tried gallantly to hide it. He probably thought it was uncouth or some such foolishness. His posture straightened and he raised his head.

“What's the matter?” Yarpen asked him. “Someone shove an iron rod up yer arse?” The Dwarves laughed raucously. Eyck's lip twitched before he turned on his heel and strode away. Yennefer gave Jaskier a bored, dismissive look before following him.

“What a load of shite,” Yarpen muttered.

“Do you know her?”

“She tried to ply her trade in Vergen for a while but moved on when the small amount o' business she got didn't suit her.”

“Do they have a problem with magic in Vergen?”

“No, no. We're Dwarves, laddie. Magic is in our blood, much like the Elves. Though a lot of them won't admit it, the stuck up prigs. But we don't need spells and potions to woo our women. We do just fine on our own.”

Jaskier laughed. “She sells love potions?” He wasn't sure why he found that so funny.

“Aye. Powders to toss your rocks or increase fertility. Like we need that shite.” Yarpen hefted his pack. “Go grab yer things before you get left behind.”

Jaskier looked around to see that everyone was getting ready to set out, and he hurried over to Roach to pack his bag. He hissed out a breath when he saw his box of spices in the saddlebag. He'd have to leave it to keep the weight in his pack down. He wasn't sure how long it would take to get up to. . .wherever they were going. He'd missed any discussions about their destination last night. Geralt stood nearby tucking his swords into the carrying case he sometimes used. 

“Are you really going to kill the dragon?” Jaskier asked him as he took stock of their traveling pantry and transferred a couple things to his bag. 

“No.” 

“Then why are we really up here?”

Geralt stopped and looked at him. “Because you pestered me until we turned around.”

“I just wanted to hear him out and get something decent to eat for once. I never said anything about tromping up a mountain. You're the one who decided to jump in when the Venomous Ice Queen showed up.”

“You can head back down or wait here with the horses,” Geralt reminded him as he shouldered the case.

“We both know I'm not going to do that.” He definitely wasn't going to stay behind now. Jaskier wasn't ashamed to admit to his own stubbornness, but he'd be damned if he sat around with the luggage waiting for Geralt to come back this time. They stared at each other for a few tense moments until Yennefer's voice broke the silence. 

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked sweetly. 

Jaskier gave her a bored look. “Jealousy is such an ugly emotion, Yennefer. Even magic can't make it pretty.”

She scowled at him and the muscles in her jaw tightened. He must have hit a sore spot.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled.

“She started it.”

Geralt huffed and followed Yennefer as she stalked away. Why did he feel like Geralt was on her side? Jaskier wasn't sure if they'd seen each other since Geralt had died because of the twisted wish back in Rinde. Yennefer had been devastated and had tried to bring him back with her magic. When it didn't work, she practically threw herself through a portal to get away, leaving Jaskier behind. It was sheer chance that Geralt had been revived. Jaskier still had no idea what had happened. 

But there was no sign of the terrified woman who had run away back then. Today it was all ice, disinterest, and business as usual. 

Digging in the saddlebag again, Jaskier checked his things one last time before shouldering his pack and grabbing his lute. Roach nickered softly and he went over to scratch behind her ears. 

“At least _you're_ on my side, right?” he asked as he fed her a sugar cube. She butted her head against his chest. 

“You have doubts.” 

Jaskier turned to see Borch standing next to him. The man was quiet when he wanted to be. Tea and Vea stood nearby but seemed to be giving them a bit of space for once.

“Doubts about what?”

“About the future,” Borch said. 

All this talk of the future was making him nervous. At least he hadn't mentioned Destiny yet. The romance of that particular sentiment had started to wear thin, even to him.

“Anyone who's certain about the future is probably wrong,” Jaskier said. 

“How so?”

“Because it hasn't happened yet. How can you be certain of something until you actually see it?” 

“Have you ever been certain of something before? Like you knew it was meant to be even though it hadn't happened yet?” Borch asked him.

Jaskier opened his mouth to say no, but closed it again before saying anything. Six years ago, he'd been certain that his future lay in the Wood. He'd known it in his bones in a way that seemed so absolute, that there was no other option but to cross the border into the unknown.

“Walk with me,” Borch said as he strode forward up the path after the trail of hunters. Jaskier gave Roach one last pat before following him and keeping pace at his side. He shrugged to settle his pack and lute comfortably on his shoulders, readying himself for the climb. They walked by themselves while everyone else was farther ahead of them. It was as private a conversation as they were going to have, given the circumstances. Just the same, Jaskier kept his voice pitched low.

“Why do I have the feeling that you're not here to kill the dragon?”

“Because you are far more perceptive than most,” Borch replied, not bothering to deny it. “I heard you singing yesterday and I must say, it was lovely. I thought your line was done, but I'm pleasantly surprised to be wrong.”

Jaskier didn't dare hope that he was talking about his family. He'd been discretely asking around for years, trying to find someone who'd known his Elven parents and grandfather. But he hadn't had much luck. After escaping The Great Cleansing when Elves, including his father and grandfather, had been mercilessly slaughtered, his mother had taken him to the Modern City of Lettenhove. The Human man she married experimented on both of them and tried to turn them from Elves to Humans. He'd succeeded with Jaskier, but his mother had died in the process. It was why he couldn't remember all of his childhood. 

But Jaskier had gone back into the Wood as an adult and discovered his magic. He was now a full-blooded Elf again even though his ears were still rounded. He was also a Bard and he had the power to heal himself with music. But he wasn't sure what else he was capable of yet. Magic didn't typically do what he wanted and he'd had no formal training.

Filavandrel had known his parents and grandfather, and he'd been present when Jaskier was born. But he had no idea where he was now. After dropping the bomb about his heritage, the reluctant Elven king had basically thrown him out because he looked too human. He'd been afraid that the young Elves with him would either harm him or take advantage of his powers. Jaskier wasn't sure if he was grateful for that or not. 

“My line?” he asked cautiously.

“Maedrilyn had such a sweet voice,” Borch said wistfully. “It was a privilege to spend time in his company.” 

Jaskier swallowed hard. “I never got the chance to meet my grandfather. All I have is his lute.”

Borch sighed softly. “More's the pity. I am sorry to hear of his passing. Have you thought, perchance, to pass on your gifts as he did to you?”

“Me? Have kids?” Jaskier laughed. “No. I don't think that's in the cards for me.” At least not purposefully. He stopped suddenly and Borch paused on the path to look at him with concern. 

“Are you alright?”

Blowing out a breath, Jaskier started walking again. “Actually. I, uh. . .” How did one talk about having barely conscious sex with nearly fifty Dryads who'd been trying to get pregnant? “I spent some time in Brokilon.”

“Ah.” Borch's voice held a light amusement. “Perhaps the forest will ring with song once again, then.”

“That's what they were hoping. It was only the once and it was a few years ago. I haven't been back since then.” And there was part of him that regretted that even though Geralt had warned him to never enter Brokilon uninvited.

“Have no fear. Eithne takes good care of the forest's daughters.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Jaskier said. His fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt to touch the Labradorite stone nestled in a knot of Leshen's Heartwood. He'd been given the pendant after being rescued by a Leshen and later, Eithne had set the stone in the center of it. She said it would help him persevere in the difficult times to come. It had sounded ominous at the time. It was doubly so now, given what Borch had said to him about the path ahead being difficult. What did they know that he didn't?

“Here.” Borch stopped him with a hand on his arm. Ahead of them, the group had moved around a corner and out of sight, so they were alone for the moment. “I fear I may not get another chance to give you this.” Rolling his hand in a fluid movement, he produced a flat, golden object in his palm. It looked like. . .

“Is that a Dragon Scale?” Jaskier breathed. Behind them, Tea and Vea gasped quietly. The scale shone brightly in the weak afternoon light like it was producing its own glow. 

“It is,” Borch said quietly. “Like I said. Golden Dragons are real.” Reaching forward to gently pull out Jaskier's pendant, he held the scale against the back and the wooden knot curled around the edges to hold it in place. The gold winked through the twisted knot to give it a gilded backing behind the stone. 

“I can't.” Jaskier felt that it was far too precious to accept.

“It is a gift from one being to another, and I want you to have it.” Borch said softly. When he set the pendant back under Jaskier's shirt, it felt warm against his skin. He closed his eyes and fought the sudden prick of tears. The warmth from the scale spread across his chest, but not unpleasantly.

“Thank you.”

“Now. We should continue on before we fall too far behind.” 

Jaskier pulled himself together and followed him up the path. Tea and Vea walked with them, but they didn't seem quite as cold and standoffish as they had before. 

By the time they set up camp at dusk, Jaskier was tired and hungry. He'd developed a fair amount of muscle tone in his legs from traversing the Continent on foot most of the year, but walking up a mountain was not the same as traveling along a smooth road. They were still among the trees and he rooted around in the bushes for fallen wood and branches for the fire. He added his armful to the pile before flopping down next to the fire pit that had been set up.

Paulie handed him a small flask. “Here, laddie. You look like you could use a boost.”

Jaskier took a sip and the burn of it stole his breath for a moment. He handed it back as he gasped. “Thanks,” he wheezed. Instead of a boost, all it did was make him sleepy. Slumping down against his pack, he dozed a bit until Lucas nudged him awake and handed him a small haunch of meat. He picked it clean and washed it down with a drink from his water skin before tossing the bones into the fire. The flames spit and hissed and he watched them dance in the dimming light as the Dwarves joked and chatted around him. 

When Geralt settled next to him after scouting the surrounding area, Jaskier automatically leaned against him. He was already falling asleep again. He felt Geralt shift into a more comfortable postilion by the fire as he wrapped an arm around him and drew him in closer. He spoke quietly to Borch across the fire, his low voice rumbling against Jaskier's ear. He fell asleep pressed against Geralt's side wondering what lay on the path before them.


	3. Snap and Bite (Oh, How it Tastes so Bitter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Weekend, Dear Readers!

Jaskier had to admit that despite the difficult terrain, the mountains were beautiful. During the next two days of traveling, he saw some gorgeous vistas. There were points were he could see for miles across the windswept peaks and forest greenery. Several times, he was struck by a sight and he tried to commit it to memory. He wished, not for the first time, that he could paint properly and put some of the images to canvas. He supposed he could paint a picture with words, but songs about scenery weren't exactly in high demand. 

It was late afternoon now and they wouldn't be stopping for a while yet, but Jaskier was feeling peckish so he veered off the path toward a patch of berry bushes. As he plucked the fruit off the stems, he heard a snuffle and saw the glint of a huge pair of eyes looking mournfully up at him from the underbrush. 

“Hello, there. Are you. . .whoa. Okay.” What had appeared to be a cute, furry little creature was in fact, a rather large, lanky beast. When it stretched up to its full height, it was almost taller than he was. Jaskier's heart fluttered a bit at being startled by its size, but Hirkka were mostly harmless unless provoked. And this one seemed so thin, that a stiff breeze might knock the poor thing over. It crooned at him questioningly and he glanced back toward the trail, worried that one of the hunters would come over and kill it. “Listen, it's not safe for you here.” He held out the berries and it sniffed at his hand before wrinkling its nose. “Oh, don't be picky. That's what you were here for, isn't it?”

The Hirkka tensed and made a low noise that deepened into a growl as it hunched threateningly and extended its short claws. 

“Shhh. It's fine. It's okay. Urf!” Fingers gripped the collar of Jaskier's doublet and yanked him back before shoving him out of the way. He landed in a mass of pucker brush and the thorny bits scratched his hands as he tried to catch himself.

“I'll handle this,” Eyck said as he drew his sword and waded into the bushes with a rather exaggerated battle cry. 

“Wait!” But it was over quickly as the blade cut through the Hirkka's limbs before the overzealous knight beheaded it. A splash of blood sprayed across Jaskier's cheek and he scrambled backwards so he could get out of range of Eyck's blows. The knight kept hacking long after the poor creature was dead. 

Jaskier found himself quickly surrounded by people as the Dwarves, Tea, Vea, and Geralt ran over to see what was going on. The Reavers wandered closer, but at a more sedate pace, more curious than alarmed. Geralt helped Jaskier to his feet, quickly inspecting him for injuries before putting himself in front of him. He eyed Eyck with distaste. 

“That was unnecessary. Hirkka are harmless,” he rumbled. 

“It looked like it was about to gut your companion.”

“Only because you came barreling in with your sword,” Jaskier said, leaning out from behind Geralt's shoulder. “It was starving. If you had let me feed it, it would have gone away.”

“It was an unnatural beast,” Eyck said imperiously. “It's my duty to cleanse the world of such vile creatures.” He eyed Jaskier with suspicion. “Aren't you the one who's always extolling the virtues of your _Witcher_ and his monster hunting skills?” His mouth twisted like the sound of Geralt's profession tasted unpleasant. 

Jaskier did not like him. 

He was suddenly jostled as Yennefer pushed roughly between him and Geralt to get to Eyck. 

“You could have been killed,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically like a frightened maiden. 

“It's merely my duty, my lady.”

Yarpen snorted from somewhere behind Jaskier. He couldn't agree more. The damsel act didn't suit her and Eyck's humble nobility was almost too much to be believed. It made him appear younger and more foolish than he already looked. Jaskier had a hard time believing he'd bested a Griffin, let alone a Manticore or a Dragon. As Eyck started collecting the Hirkka's remains, Jaskier turned away in disgust. Geralt never took trophies when he hunted. There were monster parts that were used for crafting items and brewing potions, but those were practical uses for what was left after a hunt. And the heads he brought to petitioners were merely for proof that he'd killed his target. He'd never kept one as long as Jaskier had known him. 

Pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the blood from his face, grimacing as it stained the cloth. At least the spatter wouldn't show on the fabric of his clothes. He wouldn't be able to have them laundered properly for a while, and he never could get Elihal's cleaning cantrip to work for him. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt murmured.

“Oh, _now_ you're worried,” Jaskier huffed. “I'm surprised you noticed me at all with the way you've been tagging along after Yennefer and her newest pet.” His heart folded in on itself when Geralt's expression flattened the way it did when he was controlling his emotions. Shit. He hadn't wanted to genuinely hurt his feelings. “I'm fine,” he said a little more gently. “Just annoyed.” 

And sad, he thought. The more he learned about the creatures that lived in the Wood, the less enthusiastic he was about seeing them killed. And it wasn't just non-Humans like Elves and Dwarves. One of his friends was a Rock Troll named Bodger who lived in the forest northeast of Ard Carraigh. He wasn't exactly a well read conversationalist, but he was such a pure hearted and kind being. He'd helped Jaskier recover after a bad fall into a ravine that had nearly killed him. And he'd given some pretty good advice. 

That wasn't to say that he felt protective of all monsters. Some were aggressive, many were were dangerous, and a few were downright evil. As much as Geralt had said that he didn't kill intelligent beings that could reason, that didn't mean that he wouldn't if was in the service of protecting Humanity. That was his primary objective, after all. Payment for his services was just a means to keep him moving on the Path. And then there were the spirits of the dead who suffered in their earthly existence. Killing them was a mercy.

Sitting down on a rock outcrop, Jaskier started digging in his pack for the salve he used in the colder months. Chapped hands were no joke and he needed to put something on the pucker brush scratches before they got inflamed. He grit his teeth as he rifled through every item, but was unable to find the tin. Bollocks. Of all of the things to leave behind. He looked up when something tapped his shoulder. Geralt stood above him with an unreadable expression on his face while offering the missing tin of salve. He must have grabbed it knowing Jaskier would most likely miss it while packing. He held Geralt's gaze for a moment before taking it.

“Thanks,” he said quietly before turning back to his task. “You can keep going with everybody else. I'll catch up.” He jumped as a stack of large sticks landed beside him. Boholt, the leader of the Reavers, grinned down at him.

“Nonsense!” the man said jovially with a heavy layer of sarcasm. “We're more than happy to make camp early for the sake of those who are less _resilient_ than the rest of us.” 

“You're so kind,” Jaskier said dryly. “But that's not necessary. Just keep going.” It was only mid-afternoon. They could probably go on for a two or three more hours before stopping.

“Don't listen to that sack of shite,” Yarpen told him as he set his pack down on Jaskier's other side. “We were 'bout to stop anyway.”

“I was just making some polite conversation,” Boholt said reasonably, his kind tone at odds with the nasty smile on his face. 

“Fuck off, Boholt!” Yarpen spat. The tension rose a bit as the Dwarves and Reavers took each other's measure. But Boholt just shrugged and moved off a short ways with his men. “For fuck's sake, I can't stand that prick.” Yarpen busied himself with helping Paulie set up the fire pit. “Seriously though,” he said. “The terrain ahead's a bit rough and this is a better place to camp for the night before we get up above the treeline.”

“Good to know, I guess.” Jaskier smoothed the salve over his hands and sighed as the itching sting subsided. He and Eskel had puttered around in the lab trying to come up with a recipe that was strong and soothing, but safe enough for Jaskier's non-Witcher skin. The result had been a surprisingly pleasant herbal mixture that protected his hands from the weather and soothed small hurts.

Eyck brought the carcass of the Hirkka over to the fire. Jamming the head down onto a sharpened stick, he propped it up nearby before and putting together a makeshift spit. Jaskier swallowed uncomfortably as his stomach roiled. 

“You're not actually going to _eat_ that, are you?”

“A knight never wastes a kill,” Eyck said. 

Yennefer said nothing as she sat at Eyck's side.

“Knights eat everything they hunt?” Jaskier glanced as Geralt as he settled beside him and the Witcher just shook his head slightly. So no, it wasn't edible.

“But there are those that consider monster meats a delicacy.” Geralt didn't sound thrilled by the idea. “They can be in high demand in some circles. Toussaint holds a royal hunt every fall and hosts an exclusive banquet filled with dishes made from rare species.”

“Oh, to gaze upon the gilded towers of Beauclair,” Eyck breathed with reverence. “Would that I be worthy of hunting alongside such legendary knights.”

“Well, you can keep your Harpy tongues and Cockatrice arseholes,” Yarpen said as he threw a log on the fire and stoked the growing flames. The Dwarves eyed the Hirkka meat with suspicion as Eyck ignored them and placed the spit over the fire. Borch, Tea, and Vea settled between the knight-turned-dubious chef and Geralt. Together, they all made a strange group.

“Feasting on the flesh of beasts can be beastly. Are you sure you won't reconsider, Sir Knight?” Borch asked him.

“Your concern is noted, but unnecessary,” Eyck sniffed. He eyed the Zerrikanians warily as they stared at him with barely veiled contempt. The Dwarves cooked a more mundane meal of rabbit and pheasant that they'd caught earlier in the day. After eating a few pieces of the Hirkka, Eyck had to excuse himself rather quickly as his grumbling innards growled their displeasure with his chosen meal. The Dwarves chuckled and murmured amongst themselves about cocky knights and stomachs made of glass. But then the conversation gradually turned towards the greater state of the Continent and skirmishes between countries. 

Cintra's borders were now closed as they shut themselves off from nearly everyone except for Skellige. Jaskier glanced at Geralt, but the other man didn't react to the news. The other Northern Kingdoms were eyeing each other warily while Nilfgaard continued to move north and eat its neighbors. It had already swallowed Ebbing and was currently stomping its way across Metinna to encroach upon Nazair. 

“I still don't get how a Modern City could wage war on the Wood,” Jaskier said.

“By being crafty bastards,” Yarpen said. 

“When they're not being morons and fighting amongst themselves,” Lucas muttered. 

“Laugh all you want,” Regan huffed. “Modern Technology may not work in the Wood, but good ol' steel does. And the Usurper can't be that much of a moron when he's gettin' results. I hear they train with Old World weapons and armor made in the Wood, so they can invade easier.” 

“And magic,” Paulie added. “They don't like sorcerers much, but that doesn't mean they're above using them.”

They all looked at Yennefer who had a bored expression on her face like she wasn't paying attention. But over the years traveling with Geralt, Jaskier had learned to identify a carefully crafted facade of indifference. She'd definitely been listening.

“Does the Emperor have a sorceress as an advisor?” Jaskier asked her.

She looked at him lazily as if she could be barely be bothered to address him. “I wouldn't know,” she drawled. “I don't keep track of what the Brotherhood is doing these days. I have better things to do with my time.”

“Like making love potions and fertility remedies?” Jaskier replied, knowing he was needling her. 

“Why? Are you having trouble _performing_?” 

It might have bothered him before, but knowing how tense she actually was, Jaskier recognized the comment as the weak effort it was. She was more uncomfortable than she let on, but he didn't feel like giving her any leeway. And maybe he could get in a good jab before her defenses went back up completely. But before he could say anything, Boholt came back into the clearing from relieving himself.

“If you're looking for a real man, I can show you a thing or two.” He grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips at her. Despite their dislike of the Reavers, the Dwarves found it hilarious as they howled with laughter. Yennefer remained unruffled as she watched the fire. Boholt just huffed a chuckling laugh. “Not interested in defending her honor, Witcher?”

Geralt threw a twig into the fire and refused to rise to the bait. “She doesn't need me to defend her, Boholt,” he said calmly. “She's perfectly capable of murdering you herself.”

Yennefer's lips twitched in a small, strangely genuine smile before she hid it away. Fuck. Why was Jaskier cursed to see the good in people? Why couldn't he just be content as a petty bastard? His desire to keep prodding her gradually faded away, leaving him annoyed again. Boholt, seeing he'd gotten all the response he was going to get, sauntered off towards the Reaver's camp a short distance away. 

“Well, as fun as this has been, we'd best be gettin' to bed,” Yarpen said. “We'll be movin' on at first light.” He got up and patted Jaskier's shoulder before wandering over to where the Dwarves were bedding down. 

Yennefer looked over the lowering flames towards Jaskier. The firelight made the lavender of her eyes glow like flower petals singed by embers at the edges. The earlier animosity was gone, so she'd either let it go or she was extremely good at hiding it.

“As it so happens,” she said. “I actually do require something.”

“Yen-”

“No, Geralt. Not from you.” She nodded at Jaskier. “From him.”

Jaskier blinked at her for a moment before bursting out laughing. But the sound died in his throat when her expression remained passive. “Oh. You're _serious_. What could you possibly want from me? I don't owe you anything.” If anything, it was the other way around.

“I won't coerce you into complying, if that's what you're worried about,” she said, her tone businesslike. “I have a proposition.”

“Not interested.”

“Come to my tent if you change your mind,” she said as she rose smoothly. “And bring your lute.” Then she headed to the small fabric structure that had been set up in the shelter of a craggy rock. It looked like there would barely be enough space for the two of them. Just looking at it make Jaskier nervous. 

“Perhaps it would be worth your while to discover what the sorceress needs,” Borch said calmly, his tone implying that he knew what she wanted. 

Jaskier looked at Borch's calm expression and found no guile there. Dammit. The thought was already nagging at him and Jaskier found he wanted to know what Yennefer had to say, even if finding out meant squeezing himself into her tiny canvas prison. Curiosity really was going to be the death of him someday. He steeled himself and got to his feet, but when Geralt rose to follow, Borch put a hand on his arm.

“Stay awhile, Geralt. The night is still young.”

Geralt eyed him warily before looking at Jaskier.

“I don't need a babysitter. If she tries anything, it's not like you won't know where we are.” 

Even if she took him through a portal, Geralt would be able to find him. His previous boots with the tracking charm in them had gotten worn beyond repair, but the newer ones Triss had made for him had been outfitted the same way. It helped Geralt locate him when they got separated, which happened fairly often. Jaskier had also transferred the small coin he'd once sewn into the lining. It was the first crown he'd made while performing in the Wood, though it hadn't brought him much luck so far. Geralt sighed heavily and settled again. 

Jaskier took his lute out of it's case and set the protective leather covering aside before looping the instrument's strap over his shoulder. He calmed a bit as his fingers settled on the strings. It really was a small tent. He paused outside the entrance before taking a deep breath and pushing the flap out of the way and ducking so he could step inside. His stomach flipped as magic coiled around him and the heavy drape of fabric fell closed. Straightening, Jaskier blinked in surprise. The tent had looked like it was barely four feet across from the outside, but the interior stretched out a few meters ahead of him and it was held up by a sturdy wooden frame. 

There were braziers in the corners and a table with chairs over to one side. On the other, a chest, a wardrobe, and a vanity made the space feel like a well appointed bedroom. A large, four poster bed took up most of the space on the opposite side of the tent, and there were candles on nearly every surface. Jaskier found himself focusing on the complicated knots of woven ropes that coiled around the support posts as he forced himself to settle. Yennefer was watching him with mild amusement, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him gape at the results of her magic like a tourist. He really had no idea what she wanted.


	4. A Glimpse Back and a Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely response to this story. I made myself so anxious because I wasn't sure anyone would want me to go here. But I'm relieved to see so many people interested in seeing how this plays out even when they know it will hurt.

“So what can I do for you, oh Mistress of Magic?” Jaskier asked flippantly. He stood in the middle of Yennefer's sumptuous tent and tried not to feel envious of the plush surroundings, knowing that when he was finished here, he'd have to go back out where he'd be sleeping on the ground. He was fine with camping outside, but this was just unfair.

“Does Geralt find you funny?” Yennefer was removing her long coat and putting it in the wardrobe to reveal a rather low cut dress underneath. 

“ _I_ think I'm funny, and that's all that really matters.” He had managed to make Geralt laugh on more than one occasion, but sometimes it was funnier when he didn't react. “Is that really what you wanted to ask me?” He should be nervous, but somehow, he wasn't. _She_ was nervous and he didn't know why. Jaskier knew that Yennefer wasn't scared of him, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her uneasiness. 

“Do you know why I've come here?”

“To attempt to kill another large, innocent creature that's done nothing to you?” 

“If you hadn't gotten in my way back in Hamm, I wouldn't need to wander around this shitty mountain.” Pouring wine from a waiting flagon into ornate, pewter goblets, she held offered one to him.

“Oh, definitely not. I'm not eating or drinking anything in here.” That was more a cautionary tale about the mythical Fae, but it couldn't hurt to be cautious here too. He begrudgingly admitted that she had a right to her ire, even if he wouldn't have done things any differently in Hamm. A few years ago, she'd asked Geralt to help her hunt a Sea Serpent. Through a convoluted series of events that involved another Witcher who'd been cursed into a mute Merman and a bunch of angry Vodyanoy, Jaskier had gotten in her way. The Serpent had destroyed a brigantine before swimming back out to sea, and Yennefer had stormed off in a huff. 

She shrugged and took a sip from the goblet in her hand. “If you recall our first conversation-”

“Where you kidnapped me and tried to rip my brain open from the inside?”

“Must you focus on petty details?”

“My brain is not petty unless I'm trying to find satisfaction in insulting someone. Which I haven't been able to do lately because I feel so fucking sorry for you.”

Yennefer frowned before schooling her expression again. “Pity is pathetic.”

“it's not pity,” he said. “You've obviously seen some shit, and I feel bad when I hurt your feelings.”

“I don't have feelings to hurt. It will take more than few weak jabs from some wandering minstrel to make me _feel bad_. Give me your best shot, if it will make you happy. I don't care.”

He thought she'd be a better liar. “I'm not interested in hurting someone who's already miserable,” he said quietly. 

Yennefer strode casually across the tent to gaze into the mirror on the vanity. “Why is it that men always seem to think they know how a woman feels?”

“It has nothing to do with men and women. It's the way you hold yourself when you're squaring up to someone you see as a foe. It's the shadows in your eyes when something hurts you and you can't hide it quickly enough. The quirk of your mouth when someone says something nice about you and you don't trample it immediately out of fear.”

Yennefer whirled. “I'm not afraid,” she snapped.

And those instances were just from a few brief interactions he'd had with her, but he didn't say so. Instead, Jaskier went over to one of the chairs and settled in the padded seat before propping his ankle on his knee and adjusting his lute in his lap. If she wanted to fight about this, that was fine. But he'd do it on equal footing. She still wanted something and it would be easier to hear her out with a clear head. His thoughts were already wandering and he was irritated. He needed to calm down. Plucking out a few notes, he started playing a wordless tune, but focused enough attention on it so the music didn't get away from him.

“So what were you trying to ask me back in. . .wherever you took me when we first met?” he asked calmly. “I honestly don't remember.” He shot her a pointed look. “I was in too much pain at the time.”

She returned his gaze unrepentantly in the mirror. “I wanted to know more about your healing abilities. Your throat had been crushed by that rope but you healed it in your sleep.” She turned to face him. “By singing.”

“I'm a Bard,” he said simply.

“Your chosen profession doesn't interest me so much as what you do with it.”

“Allow me to clarify.” He strummed a little quicker, putting more force into the notes. While he didn't have much active control over the healing, he'd gotten better at shifting the mood in a room at will. It was a little unnerving if he thought about it too closely, but a little adrenaline shouldn't do too much harm here. He smiled when Yennefer sucked in a breath and the fingers of her free hand curled. “I'm an _Elven_ Bard,” he told her. “Remember what Jan said?”

“A spelled lute hardly makes you a true Bard,” she sneered as she ignored the last statement, clearly unsettled. “Anyone can use an enchantment to make people feel things. It's one of the simplest charms a sorcerer learns.” Her words were bitter, like she was speaking form experience. “And I don't see any pointed ears on your empty head.”

Jaskier stopped playing and slipped the lute's strap off so he could set the instrument aside. And then he started singing Northern Star with no music, his voice clear and strong. There were several other songs that would have more of an impact, but most of them were about love. Or about Geralt. Or both. He was trying to make a point, not enrage her. 

“Enough,” she said after a few bars, still clearly unsettled. “How do you do that?”

“I have no idea.”

She looked at him sharply. “You weave complex magics with music and your voice, and you don't know how?”

“Nooope.” Jaskier clasped his hands over his middle and returned her look with calm amusement. 

“Fuck,” she muttered and drained the goblet. 

Not knowing why he bothered, Jaskier took a deep, calming breath and put both feet on the floor, before relaxing and opening himself up. She could look all she wanted if it would help her. He didn't really have anything to hide. And hopefully, it wouldn't be as painful if he let her in willingly. He knew wasn't strong enough to keep her out anyway, and maybe if she saw how his magic worked, it could help him control it. He had some bargaining power if she wanted something from him.

Thinking as clearly as he could, Jaskier invited her in. Yennefer eyed him warily, like it was some sort of trap. Jaskier couldn't believe he was doing this either. He fought his own instincts to recoil when he felt her start to rifle through his memories. And then he tried to guide her to the magic, but she brushed him away easily and he winced at the sharp contact.

“Triss is better than this than you,” he muttered. He received a mental slap in return that had him tensing up. “Fuck!” Jaskier hissed out a breath and gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles went white. “Get out, if you're going to do that,” he hissed as he tried to push her out and shut the door behind her. But the trouble with doors was that they went both ways and he ended up pushing too far. Watery images filtered before him like they were floating on the surface of a burning lake. 

A weeping woman and an angry man. 

A twisted reflection in a broken mirror. 

A bolt of lightning.

A circle of fire. 

A dead infant buried in the sand. 

Jaskier was overwhelmed by a sense of longing for something that was missing. A choice that could no longer be chosen. And then Yennefer was screaming at him angrily as he was thrown out of the tent to land on the rocky ground. His lute landed beside him as he groggily fought to stay conscious. What the fuck? There was a rock digging into his left shoulder blade and he'd hit his elbow when he landed, twinging the nerve. But he didn't really have it in him to get up. Maybe he could just sleep right here.

*******

“Jaskier.” Geralt's soft rumble roused him.

“Hmm?” Jaskier rolled onto his side and pressed his forehead against Geralt's knee. He must be kneeling next to him, probably because he was ready to go. But Jaskier wasn't ready to get up yet. 

“What did you say to her last night?” Geralt asked.

“Say to who?” Jaskier mumbled. 

There was a deep, rumbling sigh and Jaskier frowned. Really. How could he expect him to answer questions at freaking dawn? Reluctantly opening his eyes, Jaskier looked up to see Geralt glowering down at him. Around them, everyone was breaking camp and getting ready to set out for the day. Jaskier sat up, feeling disoriented as his disheveled hair flopped down into his eyes. Bracing his hand on Geralt's thigh, he felt the solid heat of him through his leather trousers and the sensation grounded him enough to help clear his head. 

“I don't think I said anything. Yennefer were talking and then. . .” He trailed off, not wanting to share something that was obviously personal. What had _she_ seen? “She threw me out.”

“Has anyone seen my escort?” Yennefer called as she stepped out of her tent.

Speak of the devil. 

Yennefer didn't deign to acknowledge Jaskier's presence as she scanned the camp, her eyes landing on Eyke's things where they lay outside the tent flap.

“Fucking BOLLOCKS!” Yarpen's cry of shocked surprise had Jaskier on his feet. When he and Geralt got to the edge of a dip in the rocks, the Dwarf was clutching the ties of his trousers at his waist and staring down at Eyck's corpse where it was sprawled, half dressed on the ground. Someone had cut his throat. “Who kills a man while he's shitting?” Yarpen cried in dismay. 

“Who knows?” Boholt said with a shrug where he stood leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree. “Maybe he did it to himself because he was so miserable. What a shitty way to die.” He and the Reavers laughed like it was the fumiest thing in the world as they sauntered away. 

Yennefer pressed forward to stare down at her dead escort. “Shit!” she swore vehemently before stalking back to her tent. 

“Fucking Reavers,” Yarpen muttered as he angrily fastened his trousers. “We're going to have to find a way up on our own before they fucking kill us all. Come on, lads. Let's get our shite packed up an' take a look at the map.”

Jaskier turned away from the body and closed his eyes, suddenly regretting coming up the mountain. 

“Come on,” Geralt said as he steered him back toward camp. 

The Reavers had already moved on, leaving the Dwarves, Borch, and Yennefer behind. Good fucking riddance. Borch stood quietly looking up the mountainside while Tea and Vea stood at his side. Yarpen came over to Geralt with a map in his hand. 

“There's a shortcut just north of here,” he said. “This whole mountain range if full of 'em. It'll cut off half a day's travel to the Dragon. We're goin'. We suggest you come with us.”

Borch nodded as Geralt went after Yennefer who was already following the Reavers. Jaskier checked his lute while he waited for him to come back. Fortunately, it seemed to be undamaged.

“Listen, Jaskier,” Yarpen said, sounding apologetic and haggard. He rarely used his name. “You really should consider goin' back down. It'll only get more difficult from here on.”

“No. I'm not running.” There was something waiting in the Dragon's lair. He wanted to know what it was. 

Yarpen's lips thinned behind his beard, clearly unhappy. “When the fighting's hapnin' you stay outta of the way, then. Understand?”

“I've been traveling with Geralt for years. I know how to stay out of a fight.” Mostly. Men were much more unpredictable than monsters. 

When Geralt came back with Yennefer, Jaskier was almost sorry she'd agreed to come with them. But that would have left her alone with the Reavers and he didn't dislike her enough to wish for that. 

They veered off the main trail across a nearby hill to head farther north so they could find the shortcut Yarpen had mentioned. Traveling without the Reavers left everyone feeling more at ease. Until they saw where the shortcut was taking them a few hours later. Jaskier stood at the edge of the precipice trying not to look down as he scanned the precarious planks and chains that made up the walkway along the sheer cliffside.

“You have got to be kidding,” Jaskier gasped as he hugged the wall.

“I told you to turn back,” Yarpen told him with one last slap on the back before he nimbly stepped out onto the planks and started inching along the rock face. “It's perfectly fine,” he called as the rest of the Dwarves followed him. 

Jaskier swallowed. “Ladies first?” He jumped when Yennefer shoved him forward, leaving him to clutch at one of the chains bolted into the rock. 

“You'd better go first, then,” she told him with a smirk. 

He turned to glare at her for a moment before stepping cautiously out onto the plank. The wind whipped his hair and tugged at his clothes as he maneuvered his way forward carefully. He didn't like having Yennefer behind him, but while he was fairly certain she wouldn't mourn his death, he didn't think she'd deliberately harm him. Whatever Geralt had told her that morning seemed to have calmed her down. At least she acknowledged his presence now. Whatever insecurities she'd tried to cover with fury were now carefully hidden away.

Traveling along the narrow walkway was the worst. Jaskier's heart took up permanent residence in his throat and he was too scared to sing. He had to focus on his breathing as he crept forward one step at a time. He couldn't even see where the path ended when he might be able to step back onto solid ground. Time seemed to pass incredibly slowly as they inched their way along the cliff while the winds tugged at their clothes and hair. The boards beneath their feet creaked ominously while the clink of heavy chain grated on his ears.

A ear-splitting crack had Jaskier clinging to the rock and sobbing quietly. But the planks he stood on remained intact beneath his feet. Taking a shuddering breath and carefully turning around, he saw Borch, Tea and Vea dangling from a chain held by Geralt with nothing but wisps of clouds beneath them. Jaskier looked back up the path towards the Dwarves, but they'd already moved ahead out of sight. He turned to see Geralt and Yennefer yelling as the wood continued to splinter. Geralt's position was precarious where he held the chain and braced himself against the cracked boards.

For Jaskier, time seemed to slow until all he could hear was the thump of his own heart beneath the pendant where the Dragon Scale rested warmly against his skin. Borch met his eyes, his expression calm and a bit sad. 

“ _Remember._ ” Borch's voice echoed in his head. “ _The path may be difficult, but the destination is worth a little pain now._ ” And then he let go and time sped back up as he plummeted down through the fog and out of sight. Tea and Vea followed him with solemn expressions, their faces calm but resigned. Jaskier clamped his hand over his mouth as he breathed heavily through his nose and tried desperately not to burst into tears. His other hand was cramping where his fingers were curled around one of the thick chains. 

Geralt was staring down after their fallen companions, his expression a bit confused, like he hadn't expected them to fall. Even Yennefer seemed distressed. They stood in silence as the wind continued to howl around them. 

*******

When they finally reached solid ground and moved farther up the mountain to where the Dwarves had set up camp, the three of them were still quiet. None of them had said a word as they kept moving along the boards and as soon as they got to camp, Yennefer set up her tent and disappeared inside. Geralt went off to sit by himself, looking out over a cliff while the sun set. Not knowing what to do with himself, Jaskier settled on the rock by his side.

“There's nothing you could have done.” Jaskier swallowed and tried not to think about how easy it would have been for Geralt to tumble off the mountain with them. The other man didn't say anything, so Jaskier continued. “In the morning, let's go back down,” he said quietly. Without Borch, there was no real reason to be here. The Dwarves could handle themselves and Yennefer could do whatever she wanted. “We could go to the coast. Get away for a while.” Jaskier winced as he remembered what had happened the last time they'd gone to the seaside. “Maybe we could finally go to Skellige.” He'd figure out how to get over his seasickness somehow. 

Again, Geralt said nothing. He just continued to look out over the setting sun. Jaskier sat at his side silently, not wanting to leave him on his own. He wouldn't pry, but he didn't want him to have to deal with this himself. But then Jaskier felt the ties between Yennefer and Geralt tightened again and he closed his eyes. This was something he couldn't compete with. The magic binding them was too old and too strong. He heard Geralt get up and walk away, leaving him sitting on the cliff by himself. He stayed where he was for several quiet minutes before getting up himself and going over to sit next to the fire with his lute. There was no sign of Geralt. He must have gone into Yennefer's tent.

The Dwarves were uncharacteristically somber as they ate quietly around the fire. They didn't ask questions, like they already knew what had happened. Jaskier curled up, feeling miserable. Now that he was relatively safe, he felt a wave of sadness overtake him. The thought of never seeing Borch again was hitting him hard for some reason. He hadn't even known him that well. What was going to happen when the people he loved died? Even if they reached old age, he wouldn't age with them. Was he going to watch everyone around him got old and die? And something else began to gnaw at him. 

For the first time since he'd met him, Jaskier wasn't entirely sure that he and Geralt would stay together. 

Stifling a sob, he crossed his arms tightly across his chest and curled tighter into his pack. Yarpen and his fellows didn't comment and let him grieve in peace as they retired for the night. Jaskier lay awake long after everyone had gone to sleep and cursed the day he'd decided to come up this fucking mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. So it's going to get worse before it gets better. Buckle up, Buttercups. It not necessarily about where they're going. It's about how they get there.


	5. The Long Way Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the hurting.

Jaskier was yanked roughly to his feet and a surge of adrenaline flooded his chest, making his heart punch rapidly against his ribs.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Boholt said as he lightly slapped Jaskier across the face. Jaskier blinked and found himself surrounded by Reavers with their leader leering in his face. Two of them held his arms and he slumped almost drunkenly between them as he struggled to wake up all the way. The campsite was empty, with no sign of the Dwarves, Geralt, or Yennefer. Had they left him behind?

“The fuck?” he mumbled as a fist plowed into his gut, knocking the wind from him and making him cough for breath. He doubled over for a moment before he was yanked upright again. 

“Now that wasn't very polite.” Boholt grabbed a handful of Jaskier's hair and dragged his head up. “I said, Good morning, Sweetheart.” 

“Good morning,” Jaskier wheezed. His pride wasn't worth so much that he'd risk getting struck again. 

“That's better. Now. Where's your Witcher?”

“I don't know.”

A fist slamming into his jaw made his head snap to the side. He could taste blood. 

“Try again. He wouldn't leave you all by your lonesome on a mountainside. Where is he?”

Jaskier spat blood and sagged in the Reavers' grip. “I don't- Wait, wait, wait! I really don't know.” He cringed back from he raised fist that threatened to hit him again. “Your guess is as good as mine.” A punch from behind to his left kidney had him crying out and struggling in his captor's grip. He let out a sobbing breath. Fuck, that hurt.

One of the Reavers took his lute out of the case and plucked a couple of strings. It looked so much smaller in his big, meaty hands. 

“Please,” Jaskier whispered desperately. “Don't.” His first lute had been smashed in front of him by angry Elves and it had broken his heart. But this one had been made by his grandfather. It was irreplaceable, and it was all he had left of his real family. 

“Where's the Witcher?”

“I don't know.” Jaskier watched with wide, horrified eyes as the lute was flung casually over the edge of the cliff. He sucked in a pained breath. “I don't KNOW where he is!” he screamed. The tears that started to trickle down his cheeks were only partially from the beating.

“Aww. Don't cry, little songbird.” Boholt brushed Jaskier's hair out of his face. And then he backhanded him. “Bring him. He might come in handy.”

They tied Jaskier's hands tightly behind him and the rope dug into his wrists. 

“You can leave me here. I'll just get in the way.” He ended up lisping a bit as his lip began to swell. “You don't have to urmph-” A thick piece of wood was shoved between his teeth, muffling him and forcing his jaw open. They'd snapped off a branch from the wood pile and it was secured with a length of rope that had been tied to each end and wrapped behind his head. He grunted behind it as another punch hit his diaphragm and fell to his knees, bruising them on the rough rocks.

The Reavers left him there and moved off to pick through the bags that had been left at camp, and they pocketed everything of value before dragging Jaskier back to his feet and heading up the mountain. He stumbled along, unable to keep his balance effectively with his hands bound behind him. Only the grip of the men holding him kept him upright as he tripped on rocks and loose scree. The cliff beside them sloped off with a scattering a broken pebbles that cascaded down away from the path. 

As they came around a corner, they saw the Dwarves standing motionless along the path like a living tableau of travelers hiking up the mountain. Why weren't they moving?

“Well, what have we here?” Boholt moved up and circled the Dwarves, seemingly delighted by their current predicament. “What was it you said about pissing in my gruel?” He flicked Yarpen's nose. 

There was no response from the Dwarf but somehow, Jaskier knew he was aware. He could feel the threads of magic holding the Dwarves in place and he closed his eyes to concentrate. It felt like Yennefer's magic. That Bitch. His eyes snapped open again as he heard the rasp of steel blades leaving their scabbards.

“Might as well put them out of their misery,” one of the Reavers said as he raised his sword and the others followed suit. 

Jaskier didn't have any time to sing as he yelled behind the gag, desperately hoping that the sound of his voice alone would be enough. He tore at the magic holding Yarpen and his company captive, shredding it with intent as his head started to pound and he felt a warm trickle of blood dribble from his nose. Something hit him hard behind his ear, cutting him off and making him woozy. But he saw the Dwarves lurching out of the way of the swinging weapons as they drew their own and started fighting. 

The men holding Jaskier seemed to be weighing their options, like they wanted to join the fight, but they weren't quite sure what to do with him in the meantime. The Dwarves were fierce and angry, their weapons cutting through the Reavers effectively and making them fall back.

“Fuck!” Boholt shouted as he was forced to give ground. “Get rid of the Bard!” 

Yarpen tried to fight his way to back down the path, but he wasn't fast enough as Jaskier was thrown toward the edge of the cliff. He tried to drop down to the ground to keep from toppling over the edge, but the loose scree gave way beneath him and he slid downward, screaming. He couldn't catch himself with his hands bound behind him and his feet just kicked at the loose stone. 

Just before he fell over the edge, he slammed into an outcropping of rock. He lay on his stomach, folded over narrow jut of stone while he stared down at the loose rocks as they tumbled down into the trees hundreds of meters below. From this height, they looked like toothpicks and he let out a shuddering breath through his nose. The sound of fighting continued above him as he tried to maintain his precarious balance on the stone and prayed that it wouldn't come loose and dump him over the edge. 

“FUCK!” Yarpen yelled. “Forget those fucks! Come on! Hang on, Jaskier!” he called. 

All Jaskier could do was whine behind the gag, his teeth digging into the wood. He had no idea what they could do. Eventually, he wouldn't be able to keep his balance anymore and he'd fall. He flinched as the coil of a rope flopped down in front of his face. He tried not to whimper as loose rocks started tumbling down around him. Pebbles rained down on his back and settled against his side. When he tried to look up, his balance shifted, making him cry out in fear. 

“Don't move, for fuck's sake,” Yarpen muttered. “I'm almost there.” The rocks shifted a bit as the Dwarf braced himself above him. “Now hold still. I might nick you a bit.”

Jaskier held painfully still as something cool and sharp brushed against the heel of his hand. He carefully pulled his hands apart after the ropes were cut, but he didn't dare try to remove the gag and risk falling. He'd have to wait until they were back on solid ground again. 

“Now,” Yarpen said gently. “You grab onto to that.” 

Jaskier gripped the rope in front of him. 

“I'm goin' to wrap this other rope around you. It's going to get a might tight, but it's better than learning how to fly the hard way. Alright?”

Jaskier hummed an affirmative as he clutched the rope in his hands. He felt a gentle tug on his clothes as Yarpen threaded the other rope around him under his arms. A low, keening sound left him as the rock holding his weight started to loosen and shift. 

“Brace yerself, boys!” Yarpen called. “It's gonna let loose!”

“We've got you, Boss!” Paulie yelled back as the rock slid free.

Jaskier hummed in distress as the rope under his arms took his weight and he hung suspended for a moment until the Dwarves started hauling him up slowly. 

“There now. I've got you,” Yarpen said quietly as he cut the gag strap and pulled the wood free of Jaskier's mouth. He put his knife away before wrapping his arms around Jaskier's torso. “Hang onto me for a bit.” 

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Yarpen's shoulders and buried his face in his beard. He did not want to look down anymore. It was an uncomfortable climb as they were dragged up the slope of loose scree, but there was no way to climb it with the loose rock shifting beneath them.

When they were on solid ground again, the Dwarves loosened the ropes and Jaskier crawled away from the edge to press himself against the solid rock. Fuck dignity. 

“They've got a hell of a head start, Boss,” Paulie said, sounding anxious. 

“I know, I know.” Yarpen knelt down in front of Jaskier and peered into his face. “We've got to-”

Jaskier looked up, his eyes cold. “Go get that son of a bitch.” It was easier to shift the fear to anger than to give in and cry. There was still too much adrenaline simmering in his blood and he wasn't ready to let it go just yet.

“There's a lad.” Yarpen grinned and clapped Jaskier on the shoulder. “Come on, boys. We've got work to do!” They all cheered and charged up the path toward the top where the Reavers had gone. 

Jaskier leaned back against the solid rock with his legs splayed out in front of him. He couldn't maintain the anger for long, and now that he was alone, he started shaking as the shock started to subside. Tears began to well in his eyes, but he tilted his head back and looked up, refusing to let them fall. He couldn't fall apart yet. He had to make sure Geralt was alright. There were nearly a dozen Reavers and they fought dirty. 

The Dragon Scale began to warm beneath his shirt and Jaskier pulled it out to see it glowing. And it wasn't his imagination this time. Something was happening and there was magic in the air like he'd never felt before. Getting carefully to his feet, he hissed out a pained breath. He had bruises everywhere and the corner of his mouth was still trickling blood. He licked at it absently, tasting copper and dirt. He wiped the back of his hand under his nose where the blood there had started to dry and itch. Heading up the path as quick as he dared, he started climbing higher. 

*******

By the time Jaskier reached the cave at the top, it was all over. There were dead Reavers everywhere and Boholt lay in a heap, spilling the last of his lifeblood into the dirt. Jaskier stared at him and felt nothing. Shouldn't he feel bad that the man was dead? 

A touch on his shoulder made him turn and when he saw Tea, he bit back a scream.

“Oh, Fuck!” He whipped his head around to see Vea on his other side. “How the fuck. . .did you. . .?” He clutched the fabric over his heart as he leaned back against the rock. His pulse pounded in his chest. They weren't dead. Did that mean. . . ? Jaskier looked over to see Borch sitting on a rock outside the cave talking to Geralt and Yennefer. He was alive. The Dragon Scale pulsed with warmth again. Jaskier stumbled forward just as Yennefer spat angrily at Geralt. 

“Oh, the irony!” she yelled. “I can't have a child, and you conspire with destiny to _steal_ one only to _ABANDON_ IT!” Her voice was nearly a scream.

Jaskier blinked, confused by adrenaline and too many shocks in a short amount of time. His brain was having a hard time catching up. She wanted a baby? What kind of mother would she make?

“I'm going to save you a lot of hurt by giving you a little pain now,” Borch said gently. 

Jaskier remembered hearing his voice before he'd fallen. He'd said the destination was worth a little pain now. 

Turning to Yennefer, Borch looked at her with compassion. “You will never regain your womb, my dear. The part of you that was removed cannot be remade.” 

A tear slipped down Yennefer's cheek. She looked quietly devastated which was so much worse than the panicked fear Jaskier had seen on her face once before. If this was a little pain, he hated to think what a lot of hurt would look like. Was that was she'd been trying to ask him the other night? To heal her so she could have a child? His own ears were still rounded even though he'd changed himself back to a full blooded Elf. He'd never have pointed ears created with magic because he couldn't make something from nothing. He couldn't heal Erlowyth's missing fingers, and he never would have been able to give Yennefer the part of her that was missing.

Borch turned to Geralt. “Though you've been trying to avoid her, you will eventually lose the sorceress.”

“He already has,” Yennefer said, her voice choked and angry as she whirled and opened a portal, disappearing through it before Geralt could say anything. The Witcher's shoulders fell and Jaskier could see his chest heaving. Borch wouldn't meet Jaskier's eyes, and his postured sagged with something that might have been regret as he stared out over the mountain. 

Stepping forward, Jaskier laid a hand on Geralt's arm. “Geralt-”

Geralt whirled, his eyes flashing with fury. His lip curled as he took in Jaskier's bloody, disheveled appearance. “Why is it that whenever I'm buried in shit these days, you're the one shoveling it?”

“What?” Jaskier recoiled in the face of the Witcher's unbridled anger. He'd been angry with him before, but never like this. “That's not fair.” He stumbled over the words, feeling like he'd been slapped. 

“Isn't it?” Geralt snarled. “The worst things in my life have happened to me because of _you_. The Surprise Child. The Jinn. The fucking Dragon. _ALL_ of it!”

“You don't mean that,” Jaskier whispered. 

Geralt held Jaskier's heart in his hands and he was viciously tearing it to pieces. He'd given him everything and it wasn't enough. 

Geralt leaned in and spoke quietly, the vicious heat in his words leaving burns in their wake. “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off of my hands.”

The torn pieces of Jaskier's heart were tossed to the ground in front of him and the shriveled remains blew away on the wind. 

Jaskier watched Geralt stalk away from him and felt the distance that had been growing between them stretch into a yawning chasm he didn't know how to cross. He wasn't sure he even wanted to anymore. He wanted to follow him, but at the same time, he wanted desperately to run away. Was he going to keep crawling back to him every time Geralt left him behind? 

Jaskier felt hollow and empty and his fingers itched for his lute to soothe the hurt and calm is disintegrated nerves. But that was gone too. He'd never be able to replace it. What was he going to do? Geralt kept walking away from him, his sword case slung over his back. Was he going to stop and come back when he calmed down, or was he just going to keep going?

“Come on, lad,” Yarpen murmured. “Let him cool off a bit. Come back to camp with us.” He tugged gently on Jaskier's sleeve. “He'll come down when he's ready.”

“Okay.” Jaskier's voice was small and flat as he let himself be led away back down the mountain. His stomach was twisting itself in knots and his chest felt tight. He couldn't just walk away. Unable to leave without saying anything to Geralt, he turned back briefly, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “I'll wait for you down at the tavern,” he called. 

Geralt didn't make any sign that he'd heard him as he kept walking and Jaskier felt a cold emptiness settle over him. It couldn't be over, he thought as his torn heart faltered. Or was he just lying to himself?

When they got to the camp, Jaskier was starting to feel all of his physical aches and pains. Each step pulled at something new and painful, but it wasn't all from the bruises. He looked at the empty lute case and felt a spurt of anger. It was never enough. Just when he thought he'd gotten what he wanted, it was taken away again. Lifting the empty case, he turned and hurled it out over the cliff as a harsh sob tore out of his throat. He watched it twirl in the air before it fell down past the edge and disappeared from sight. Jaskier swore as he remembered that his notebook and pencils were still tucked into one of the pockets. Now they were gone too. But maybe it was for the best. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to remember this trip at all. He certainly wasn't going to fucking sing about it.

*******

They waited until midday, nursing their various bumps and bruises before heading down the mountain. The Dwarves had received various small injuries during the battle and they took the time to patch each other up before getting back on the road again. Fortunately, they bypassed the shortcut along the cliff face. It took a little longer, but they didn't have to crawl along any sheer drops. 

On the fifth day, they reached The Pensive Dragon where this whole fiasco started. Jaskier booked a room and declined Yarpen's offer to travel to Caingorn with the Dwarves, telling them that he really was going to wait. Now that he wasn't in imminent peril and he'd calmed down, he felt like he could see things a little more clearly. He'd seen Geralt angry before and it rarely lasted. The Witcher was probably beating himself up because he'd lost his temper, as he usually did. It still hurt terribly, but Jaskier felt a little stupid for leaving so soon. He should have waited.

Geralt would come back down, and while they probably wouldn't talk about it the way they should, they'd find a way through this like they did back in Vizima during the festival. And even if he hadn't heard what Jaskier had said before he left, Geralt would know he was here at the inn because of the tracking charm in his boot. It would be fine. A little pain now and the destination would be worth it, Borch had said. Well, Jaskier was here now and he was ready for the payoff. 

He spent the first couple of days just sleeping and recovering. Without his lute, he could still heal the physical wounds, but the emotional ones would take a little longer. Fortunately, nothing was serious enough that it left a mark. He had his things laundered, but the red outfit needed to be repaired. There were tears at the knees and scuffs from when he'd fallen. But he wasn't sure he'd want to wear it again. The color was too close to blood for comfort. 

Geralt should arrive any day now. He might just be taking his time. 

The days started feeling increasingly slow without anything to do. Watching people in the common room could only pass the time so much and Jaskier really didn't feel like singing. So he started drinking. It didn't make the pain any less. Sometimes, it actually made it worse. But it was better than the waiting.

By the end of the first week, Jaskier started to think that Geralt wasn't coming. But maybe he'd just gotten hung up taking care of something. The mountains were full of beasts. He could be working through this by. . .working. 

By the middle of the second week, Jaskier started feeling a little desperate. It hadn't really occurred to him that Geralt wouldn't be coming. Not seriously. He couldn't have really meant it when he said he'd wanted life to take Jaskier off of his hands. 

By the middle of the third week, his ready cash was starting to run low and he didn't have access to any of his funds out here. He had to find a way to make some money or move on. 

At the end of the third week, Jaskier took the tracker out of his boot and left it on the hearth in the common room. He thought about leaving a note, but he didn't bother. He didn't know what to say and he figured the tracker would be enough by itself. He changed into his favorite turquoise outfit and left the red one in the dresser in his room. He wouldn't be wearing that color again. Shouldering his pack, he set out on the road and didn't look back. 

*******

Traveling alone was hard. Jaskier had done it before, but it had never felt this lonely. He couldn't play his lute to pass the time, and every time he tried to sing, the words dried up in his throat. The days bled into one another and the only reason he noticed the passage of time was because it started getting colder at night. He had to wrap himself tightly in his cloak more often. 

Pausing at a crossroad one morning, he saw the eastern road that led to Kaer Morhen and the southern one that went to Ard Carraigh. He'd spent every single winter in the Keep since he'd entered the Wood. Geralt was probably on his way there right now. The thought made Jaskier's throat tighten uncomfortably and he turned south. If he was going to hide from everything, he might as well go all the way. Because that's what he was doing. Hiding.

He knew there was a place for him at Oxenfurt or Novigrad. He could easily stay with Essi and Brett, or with Sebastian. Elihal would definitely take him in. He already had shared custody of Jaskier's wardrobe. He could even stay at Vaz's home in Redania if he needed to or with Vaz's brother Alik. But he couldn't make himself go west. Friendships would only lead to the end of said friendships, one way or another. He couldn't stand the thought of losing anyone else, and and he really didn't want to bother them. They'd done so much for him already. They were fine where they were. He'd find a way to be fine where he was.

The rusted sign outside of Ard Carraigh was the same as he remembered. It hadn't crumbled yet. Jaskier ignored the dark patch of forest south of the city, even when his pendant pulsed. Crossing the border into the Tech brought him to his knees and made his breaths come in short pants. He flopped down onto the dry grass and lay on the side of the road, struggling to breathe. It felt like there was something standing on his chest and his skin prickled like it was on fire. It was nearly an hour before he was able to stand again and stumble his way forward as the ever-present itch settled over his skin. He'd get used to it eventually. 

But where should he go from here?

Jaskier found himself wandering the streets, ignoring the looks from passerby who eyed his travel stained clothing with distaste. He paused outside an ice cream parlor and wondered why he'd stopped there. His feet seemed rooted to the ground like he couldn't take another step. What was it about this place? There was something familiar about it but he wasn't sure why. It had been a while since he'd eaten anything substantial and his thoughts were getting fuzzy.

“Julian?”

The soft, female voice made him look up and focus on the woman standing up the street by the small cafe. Lara. He'd forgotten that he'd given her his Human name. 

“Uh.” He swallowed awkwardly. “Sorry I'm late.” His vision blurred and when he blinked, a tear trickled down his cheek. “I'll just, uh. . .” What must she think of him? He hadn't shown up for their date six years ago and he hadn't contacted her before leaving the city, or in any of the time since then. 

Slender fingers brushed the tear from his cheek and he blinked again to see that she'd come over to stand in front of him. She'd grown her hair out and the long, golden brown waves flowed down past her shoulders. 

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. 

He looked her in the eye and couldn't lie to her. “No.” His voice wavered.

“It's okay.” She wrapped her arms around him and he leaned into her as a sob shook him. Nobody had touched him in weeks and he hadn't realized how much of a toll it had taken on him. He let her hold him as all the emotions he'd held in since the mountain came pouring out in a rush. And blessedly, she didn't seem to mind. Maybe it _would_ be okay. Maybe he could be fine here.


	6. Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here, Dear Readers, is where you're going to have to trust me. Everything will be resolved.
> 
> Eventually.
> 
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* 2 ½ Years Later *

Jaskier stretched and yawned, raising his arms above his head before he reached over and shut the alarm off. He lay there for a moment feeling the the soft cotton sheets where they were tangled around his hips. The air conditioner had kicked out again yesterday and the apartment felt overly warm. He heard the shower turn off in the bathroom and he looked over toward the partially open door.

“Did you talk to the super?' he asked.

“Yeah,” Lara said. “But his guy can't get here until tomorrow. Want to get another fan?”

“Definitely. It'll only get worse this summer, and and the AC is probably going to break again. I'll pick one up before I come into work this afternoon.”

“Okay.” She came into the bedroom wrapped in a mint colored towel with a dark blue one twisted around her hair. “I'm heading in early. Brian's bringing over those extra buns and biscuits for the catering job today.”

“You sure you don't need me to come in earlier?”

She knelt on the bed and slid a had across his bare stomach. “I'm sure. You need a break.”

“I take breaks,” he said, trying not to sound too defensive.

“Only when I force you to.” She leaned down to kiss him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Uh-uh,” she said against his mouth before sliding out of his hold and standing up with a smile. “I don't want to be late.”

“You won't be late if we're quick.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. 

She just laughed and dropped the mint towel before rooting around in the dresser for clothes. Jaskier lay on the bed and watched her while she dressed and picked up the towel to head back into the bathroom. She came back out with freshly combed hair and left the room with a wink. He heard the apartment door open and shut and then he was alone. He needed to get ready too, but he was in no real hurry. 

Getting out of bed, he tucked his shoulder length hair behind his ears and pulled on a pair of loose cotton shorts before shuffling out to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He yawned again and scratched idly at his short beard as he waited for it to brew. An earthy aroma filled the air as the machine gurgled. When he popped the top of a prescription bottle, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. He ignored it and dry swallowed the small pill. It was probably just Paul trying to get him to go out to a club again. Fuck that. He hated the noise.

Taking a fresh mug of coffee out to the balcony, he snagged a lighter and a pack of herbal cigarettes off the shelf next to the window. They weren't much healthier than straight tobacco, but they soothed him in a way most things didn't. And he'd never heard of an Elf dying of lung cancer. Pulling out a dark, filtered stick, Jaskier sat at the plastic table and lit it while looking out over the city. The vantage point from the apartment looked out on skyscrapers and factories, and not much else. He preferred it that way.

The neighbor's butter colored tabby cat leapt over the balcony railing to come thread himself around Jaskier's ankles. Exhaling a stream of smoke he rubbed his foot along the cat's back. 

“And how did your night go, Oscar?”

The cat let out a chirping mrrp before rolling onto its back and exposing its belly.

“Not a chance,” Jaskier muttered, tucking his feet under the chair. He knew it was a trap. Realizing it couldn't lure him in with cuteness, the cat twisted and rolled to its feet again before hopping over to the next balcony so it could sample the herb garden growing in the plant hanger. “Barbra's going to spritz you again when she finds teeth marks in her basil,” Jaskier drawled, taking another lazy drag. The anti-depressant was taking effect and along with the cigarette, he was starting to feel calm enough to face the day. He stubbed out the butt before taking his half-full mug back inside. 

Jaskier showered and dressed before standing in front of the fogged up bathroom mirror. He didn't wait for it to clear as he combed his hair and went into the bedroom to get dressed in dark jeans, brown ankle boots, and a gray t-shirt with a black vest. It didn't really matter what he looked like. He knew his own face well enough. And while it didn't bother him enough to actually cover the mirror while he was in the bathroom, he rarely lingered on his reflection unless he was trimming his beard.

Grabbing his wallet, phone, and keys, he got a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge and headed downstairs. He didn't need to be at the cafe until one o'clock, but he had some errands to run this morning, including getting a new fan. Or two. Summers in the city cold be brutal and he grimaced at the idea of suffering through it without AC. But his first stop was the repair shop to pick up the espresso machine. Becca had managed to fuck it up again. He pulled his car up in front of the shop and swiped his chip card at the parking meter before heading inside. 

A Dwarf came out to the counter when he heard the bell on the door tinkle. “Julian, good morning,” he said jovially. 

“How's it going Derrin?”

The stout Dwarf rolled up the sleeves of his button down shirt and blew out an annoyed breath. “Why do people insist on using the wrong beans? Don't get me wrong. I do quite enjoy the business, but it's hell on the grinder.” He lifted the heavy espresso machine with one hand and set it on the counter. “Slap that lass's hand and tell her to use the correct blend. If she keeps it up at this rate, I'll need to replace the grinder entirely.”

“Oh, she's never touching it again,” Jaskier said as he paid for the repair and took the receipt. “Thanks for the quick turnaround.” 

“No problem, laddie.”

Jaskier smiled and tried not to let it turn into a grimace as he left the shop. 

Next stop was for paper and cleaning supplies. Their napkins had been dwindling rather quickly lately and they were going to run out completely before the next scheduled delivery arrived. And after that fiasco with the blender, he needed to pick up an extra bottle of cleanser. It had taken forever to get it all cleaned up and they were still finding bits of blueberry. He added the case of napkins and the gallon jug to the trunk with the espresso machine and headed to the department store. 

He picked up a handful of fresh, white hand towels and stopped to look at the utensils in the gadget aisle. A thin, slotted spatula caught his eye. As a landlocked city with no major rivers, Ard Carraigh had to import all its seafood which made it fairly expensive. But the new fishery on the western edge of the manufacturing district was making fish more affordable. Maybe they could adjust the menu. It was worth looking into, and if it didn't work out, he could use the new utensil at home so he grabbed it. Even after a day in the cafe's kitchen, he still enjoyed cooking in his free time. And they never had to buy bread because he baked so much on the weekends. 

Two small, oscillating fans were his last purchase before checking out at the register and putting everything in his car. He dropped the fans off at the apartment and headed to the cafe with the rest. Parking out back, he opened the back door and carried the machine in first, heading through the busy kitchen. There was an assembly line set up on the stainless steel counters as Lara and two of their employees made sandwiches for the catering order that was due at midday. Heading through to the front counter, Jaskier set the machine in place. He'd have to hook it up later. 

“Oh, my gods Julian,” Becca breathed as she came over to pump some flavoring into a cup. “We are soooo busy today. Are you here to fill in for Clark?”

“Why isn't he here?” The dining room was mostly full with a line at the counter. So many people. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It didn't help much. The servers were looking a bit haggard, like they'd been going flat out all morning.

She scoffed as she handed over the drink to the waiting customer and rang up the sale. “Guess.”

Hangover. Check. Shaking his head, Jaskier went back into the kitchen before his nerves got the better of him. He gave Lara a pointed look as she glanced up from the sandwich she was putting together. She grinned sheepishly. 

“Since you're here,” she said. 

He smiled softly at her. “What do you need?”

“I really need another person on counter service,” she said without thinking.

Jaskier's smile faded and he felt a small spike of adrenaline. Taking another calming breath, he blew it out slowly and tried to count it out this time before it got really bad. She immediately winced as she realized her mistake before finishing the sandwich and coming over to take his hands. 

“Sorry,” she murmured as she lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Take over for me here and I'll go out front. Mandy has the list for the order, and we're crossing things off as we go.” After washing her hands, she went through the swinging door to the dining room. Jaskier felt his heart slow again as he snagged a clean apron off a hook and tied his hair back so he could go to the sink to wash his own hands. The list was more than half done when he looked at it, and he started making the next sandwich on the list, focusing on the calming repetition of layering ingredients and condiments between the slices of bread. 

When they were finished with the order, it was nearly noon, and he helped Mandy load the insulated boxes into her car for delivery. He brought in the case of napkins and the cleaning supplies and put them in the storage closet as Lara came back into the kitchen. She came into the closet with him and closed the door behind her before coming over to wrap her arms around his waist. Jaskier sighed and rested his cheek on her hair. 

“How are you?” she asked quietly. 

“Good. Mandy just left on the delivery and I got a case of napkins for out front.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.” He pulled away, opening the case of napkins and loading the spare dispensers that sat on the shelves so he had something to do with his hands. “It's just another day.” 

“I can ask Mandy to stay, so you can head home.”

Jaskier shook his head. “She's been here since opening and she has plans tonight. I told her to head home after the delivery.”

“Alright,” she said. “Ben will be in at two today.” She placed her hand on his back and smoothed it over his shirt softly for a moment before heading back out to the kitchen. The warmth of her touch lingered as Jaskier filled the last napkin dispenser and moved on to refilling salt shakers. 

At lunch, he headed out back to the picnic table nestled in the shadowed recess between buildings to eat and have a cigarette. Then he went back in to get to work. He spent the afternoon filling standard orders and a handful of special requests. When Ben came in, he kept up a steady stream of chatter to fill the time. Laura was in and out of the kitchen, keeping eye on the back and the front of the house. And then they closed up together while the servers wiped everything down for the day. Going home, he and Laura ate dinner and he took a sleeping pill before they went to bed. And that was the day. 

The next day started much the same with Lara leaving for work and Jaskier smoking on the balcony with a cup of coffee while chatting with Oscar the cat. The cafe was pleasantly busy without being overwhelming when he arrived and he went into the kitchen to wash his hands and start cooking. Becca bemoaned the lack of love in her life, while Ben consoled her by reciting unflattering limericks about her ex boyfriends every time she came into the kitchen. It made her laugh every time. The third time she nearly spilled something, Lara came in and waved a ladle in the air, grandly declaring the kitchen a limerick free zone, much to the exaggerated and dramatic dismay of the staff until they all dissolved into silly giggling. Jaskier didn't join in, his lips merely quirking in amusement. But It was nice. 

It was late afternoon by the time Jaskier got a chance to head out back for a smoke. He'd had to go to the front counter several times and he was starting to get jittery. He brought a book with him to distract himself and space out for a while. He'd go back in when he was settled again. He lost track of time and was on his second cigarette before someone came looking for him. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw that they weren't wearing one of the cafe aprons.

“This is an employee only area,” Jaskier said without looking up. “The customer smoking tables are on the other side of the building.” He turned the page and waited for them to leave. 

“What the fuck happened to you, Buttercup?”

The nickname had Jaskier tensing and he looked up to see Vaz staring at him with a strange expression on his face, like he wasn't sure what he was seeing. He wore a pair of jeans and work boots with a dark blue t-shirt. The mundane, Modern appearance made him look odd and out of place.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Didn't recognize you at first until you said something. Where have you been? Everybody's been really worried about you.”

“I sent a letter,” Jaskier said as he went back to his book. 

“Yeah. A creepy, cryptic letter that left us wondering what was going on with you. And thanks for waiting two fucking years to let us know you weren't dead, Asshole.” 

Jaskier said nothing as he tried to keep reading, but he had trouble focusing on the words.

“We had no idea where you were,” Vaz continued. “But now I find you hiding out in Ard Carraigh looking like you've grown a breakup beard and. . . aw, shit. Geralt,” he breathed in dismay. “What got him?” His ire quickly shifted into worry and grief.

“Nothing, as far as I know,” Jaskier said, his tone flat. “He was fine the last time saw him.” The last time Jaskier had seen him, the Witcher been blaming him for all the worst things in his life and wishing that he could be blessed by having Jaskier taken off his hands.

“Then why the chin cozy? I figured the only thing capable of separating you two was him getting killed. And even then, you'd probably find a way to bring him back from the brink.”

“Is there a point to this?” Jaskier snapped, his patience waning as Vaz's words hit a little too close to home. He closed the book and slapped it down on the table. 

Vaz watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable before he sat down across from him and picked up the book. “Science fiction?” He flipped it over to look a the cover that had a picture of a spaceship on it.

Traveling among the stars was just a dream and even if were possible, it was never going to happen. Technology struggled futilely against the stranglehold of the Wood, and it would be snuffed out entirely one day. But it was the closest thing to actual fantasy Jaskier could find at the bookstore. Everything else was too real.

“What do you want?” Jaskier asked him evenly. He could feel his pulse tripping and the itch that was usually buried by nicotine and medication started to crawl along his skin uncomfortably. 

“I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“I'm fine.”

The other man huffed a bitter laugh. “That's what Essi said you'd say. She pregnant, by the way,” Vaz said dismissively as he tossed down the book.

“What?” 

Vaz spoke slowly and exaggerated the words like he was speaking to a small child who didn't understand. “Essi and Brett are Going To Have A Baby.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath and blinked as the parts of his life that he'd given up suddenly came into painfully sharp focus. What else had he missed? He stared down at his hands where they lay curled on the table. He wanted to cry but he couldn't. He hadn't shed any tears for a long time. 

“Hey,” Vaz said softly as he reached out to take his hand. He sighed when Jaskier pulled out of reach and tucked his hands into his lap under the table. 

“You came to see how I was doing. I'm fine,” Jaskier said, dully staring at the chipped paint on the table. “Now you can go back and tell them that.” 

“You are _not_ fine,” Vaz said quietly. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to forget.” Jaskier felt hollow in a way he hadn't in a really long time. It had become easy to ignore all the things he'd left behind and the memories had finally started to fade. But now they were all seeping back into his conscious thoughts, like a sluggish wound that oozed blood through a bandage. The longer this conversation went on, the worse he felt. 

“Maybe this will remind you, then.” Vaz said as he got up for a minute and came back over with a painfully familiar shape. He set Jaskier's lute case down on the table. “When Yarpen and his boys heard you'd gone missing, they crawled all over that damn mountain looking for you. They thought you'd gone back up on your own and gotten lost. Said they found this hanging in a tree like it was waiting for them to find it.”

The lute case appeared no worse for wear despite it's flight off the edge of a mountain. Jaskier even saw his notebook peaking out of the side pocket. But he didn't dare touch it. Vaz opened the case and the lute sat whole and unscathed. Jaskier exhaled sharply as his pulsed picked up again. The beautiful hum of the strings was nearly painful to his ears. He couldn't go back now. It had been too long. Feeling hurt too much. 

Shoving himself up unsteadily from the table, he dug in his pocket for his keys and left, heading directly for his car. Vaz didn't stop him as he drove away and left him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The look I was going for with !Modern Jaskier is a mix of Joey Batey playing Pierre on Knightfall and singing in his band The Amazing Devil.


	7. Time to Face the Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments. It's been fascinating to see everyone's reaction to what's been happening.

Jaskier lay curled on the balcony in a pile of pillows and cushions that they kept in the corner of the living room for that purpose. He was on his third cigarette and the inside of his mouth tasted like burnt clover. He needed to drink something, but the bottle of vodka was closer than the sink and he didn't need to get shit-faced today. That would only make it worse. 

Stubbing out his last butt before it burned down to the filter, he pushed the pack and ashtray away from him so he wouldn't grab another one. It was relatively peaceful out here and the balcony floor was solid stone beneath him, but it was still open enough that he didn't feel trapped. A purring mrrp made him roll onto his back and look up to see Oscar looking down on him from the seat of the plastic deck chair. He reached out, but the cat's nose wrinkled and it sneezed before jumping lightly over his outstretched arm and landing squarely on his stomach with all four pointy feet.

“Owyoufurryfuck,” he huffed as the breath was lightly knocked out of him. The cat just sauntered away casually, narrowly missing his groin at it leaped up to its own balcony and slid through the open window. Jaskier was left massaging his abdomen and frowning at the cloudy sky. He'd planned to sleep out here tonight, but not if it was going to rain. Fuck. 

Through the closed balcony door, he heard the apartment door open and close again. It had to have been two or three hours since he'd left, but Lara was home early. Jaskier felt a twinge as he realized she'd probably left work to come to find him when he didn't come back. He kept staring at the clouds. He wasn't ready to go back inside yet. 

Lara opened the balcony doors and sat down just inside the doorway as she set a glass of water at his elbow. Jaskier closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. She waited for him to sit up and drain half of the glass before saying anything. 

“Are you happy?” she asked softly.

Jaskier frowned and set the glass aside. “I like it here.”

“That's not what I asked.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away for a moment. He'd had this conversation before from the other side. There was an Elven swordsmith in Novigrad who had been forced out of business by an unscrupulous competitor, and he'd resorted to making dumplings to make ends meet. Jaskier had asked him if he was happy, but he'd already known the answer. It was obvious that it had just been a means to survive that was slowly making the Elf miserable. But this was different. Nobody was forcing him to stay here. It was his choice. 

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because after hearing you talk about how much it hurt to lose your grandfather's lute, I never thought seeing it again would make you so sad.”

Jaskier did not want to talk about this. When she'd first taken him home with her after he crawled out of the Wood, everything had come spilling out of him, like he had to tell her about nearly every moment between then and the last time he'd seen her. He'd been empty and exhausted when he was done and he'd never mentioned any of it again, choosing to bury what was left and move forward. He'd surrounded himself with things that didn't remind him of the Wood or anyone who lived there while finding distractions to keep him busy. Burying the itch of his blocked magic with pills and chemicals, he hadn't sang a single note in all this time. For the first couple of months while they tried to find the right balance of meds, he'd barely even spoken. 

“Come inside.” Lara stood and headed through the living room into the attached kitchen. 

Jaskier picked up a couple of the larger pillows and kicked the rest inside, nudging them into the corner with his foot before tossing the others down and closing the balcony doors. When he turned, he saw Lara opening the lute case where it sat on the table. Her fingers ran over the strings, making them sing. The sound was lovely even under an inexperienced hand. 

“I've never asked you to sing for me,” she murmured.

Jaskier shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I figured you were giving me space.” In truth, she'd never really asked him for anything and he swallowed hard, suddenly feeling how very one sided this relationship had been. She'd taken him in when he'd come crawling out of the Wood with a gaping hole in his chest where he heart used to be. He realized with dismay, that it still felt tender and bruised. He thought he'd been healing. But maybe he'd just been ignoring it.

“I saw you play in Vizima.”

“When?” he asked with a confused frown.

“When you won the competition at the Bardic Festival. The trip was a gift for my twenty-fifth birthday.” She wandered over to a framed photo of her and her friends in Old World clothing. 

Jaskier had never asked about the photo. He'd thought they were just dressing up for a theme party since there were Modern lights and furniture in the background. 

“I was surprised when I saw you on stage,” she said. “It had been a few years since you stood me up and I was angry and upset all over again. And then I heard you sing and. . .” She shook her head and her eyes glistened. “When you sang Spellbound, I thought. . . I _hoped_ you were singing about me. All that romantic imagery about love at first sight.”

Jaskier opened his mouth but couldn't think of a single thing to say. 

“And then you sang the song about the kiss, and you were staring at that man with the white hair while you cried on stage, and I knew you were in love with someone else. And it was. . . okay. I remembered listening to you talk about going back into the Wood when we first me, and about Geralt, and I thought. . . if that's what you were going back for, then it was meant to be. But then you showed up here alone looking so . . .”

“Broken,” he finished, his voice cracking on the word. Because that's how he'd felt. How he still felt. There was something broken inside of him and he didn't know how to fix it. 

“You told me so many things. I can't even remember it all, there was so much. I thought if I gave you some time, a safe place to be. . . I thought I could help you. . . feel better. I never intended to . . .” She spread her arms. “I didn't intend for this . . . I just wanted to give you a place to stay until you could get back on your feet, not fall in love with you even though I knew it wouldn't work.”

“You never said anything.”

“No. I didn't, and. . .that's my fault. For being selfish.” 

“You're _not_ -”

“Please let me finish.” The quiet anguish in her voice was hard to hear. “You just fit yourself into my life. The cooking, the cafe. You helped me keep it organized when I bought the place and nearly lost my mind trying to keep track of everything. I never figured out why. Except for the cooking part, you don't really like any of it.”

“You think I don't want to be here?”

“It's not that you don't want to be here. It's that you don't _belong_ here,” she said.

Jaskier flinched like he'd been slapped. He should be crying, but his feelings had been so numbed by meds, all he felt was a dull, aching sadness. The artificial calm of it made him feel a little ill, like there was something wrong with him.

“This isn't. . .” Lara blew out a harsh breath and rubbed the heel of her hand over her eye to clear the tears away as she sniffed. “I never know how to talk to you about this. You get so upset and anxious, or you just get really quiet.” She looked up at him again. “Why don't you sing anymore?”

“Because I don't want to destroy another city.”

“What?” Lara frowned, clearly confused as she continued to sniff and hold back tears. “I don't understand. What does that even mean?”

“I sang in Lettenhove and now it's just a pile of rocks and glass,” he said, his voice flat. “My magic will fuck everything up and kill everyone.”

“Then why didn't you stay in the Wood? You have friends. You told me about them. But when one of them showed up today and you ran off.”

He didn't have an explanation. Sometimes looking back, it was like he was staring at another person with his face doing all of the things he shouldn't be doing, handing things badly for stupid reasons. The decisions the impostor made were illogical and made no sense. And then he'd feel stupid about it, knowing that _he_ was the one doing all those wrong things. And when that moment of clarity faded, he'd be right in the middle of it again, making all those same decisions because he couldn't see any other way. 

“Vaz just reminded me of so many things I've tried to forget. I miss Geralt,” he said. “And I don't want to see him anymore.” And that really hurt. He was lying and it hurt. He wanted to see him. To hold him and be held so much that he couldn't breathe. The thought of never seeing him again was crushing, like a giant hand gripping his chest and squeezing until everything was cracked and broken. Jaskier rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as his throat tightened up. Gods, he wanted to cry. But he was so numb and empty. “Elves live for centuries and that's a long time to be alone.” 

“Have you talked to him?” Lara asked, sounding tired and confused, but still trying to help. 

“No.” Jaskier was too afraid to talk to him. He didn't think he could take being rejected again. 

“Maybe you should,” she said. 

“I have no idea where he is.”

“You know where he'll be. Go to the Keep where all those Witchers hang out in the winter. You've been there before.”

“I'd never make it through the passes myself,” he said. He'd get lost or fall off a cliff or something. And that would just piss Geralt off.

“Then stay at the inn that's on the way there. The one with that guy who helps them.”

“Malcolm probably wouldn't want me to-”

“You're just going to keep finding reasons not to go, aren't you?” She looked at him, her eyes hardening as her irritation started getting stronger than her sadness. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I want you to _want_ something,” she said, pleading with him to understand. “I want you to find where you're supposed to be.”

He'd wanted that too, once. But he couldn't remember what that felt like. The itch along his skin sharpened suddenly, like fire ants were crawling beneath the surface and biting. He scratched along his arm and didn't say anything. 

Huffing a breath, Lara looked away again. “I'm going back to work. I'll be home later.” She sighed. “Do whatever you need to do to. . .feel better.” And then she left, leaving him alone in the kitchen with the lute. 

Jaskier stood in the kitchen for a long time, feeling the itch along his skin and wondered what it would be like to feel an emotion that wasn't anxiety, sadness, or fear. In one of those rare moments of clarity, he realized that he couldn't keep doing this. Going to the cabinet, he took out the bottles that held the anti-depressants and sleeping pills he'd been taking. One of them would make the itch fade, and taking one of the other ones would let him sleep. He frowned at the amber colored plastic. When was the last time he'd slept naturally without drugging himself?

Opening both bottles, he poured the pills down the disposal and ran the water before flipping the switch and listening to the blades grind the tablets into a slurry before washing them away. Then he strode over to the low cabinet along the wall and got the bottle of vodka. He dumped it down the drain after the pills for good measure. 

No going back. 

But it wasn't enough. The itch was maddening and it wouldn't go away as long as he sat around feeling sorry for himself. Something needed to change. Jaskier left the lute on the table, but went into the bedroom to retrieve the Leshen's Heartwood pendant. He put it on and smoothed a hand over his chest just below his throat so he could felt the outline of it under his shirt. He'd taken it off after he'd first arrived, not wanting to look at it since it reminded him too much of the mountain. The Dragon Scale was cool to the touch in a way that felt wrong. It wasn't even warming against his skin the way mundane gold normally would. He wondered if it needed magic.

Leaving the apartment, he locked the door behind him and went downstairs. Bypassing his car and crossing the street, headed head towards the border. He hadn't been outside the city limits since he'd wandered in that first day over two years ago. Jaskier started out jogging but had to slow down to a walk as a stitch pinched his side painfully. He was out of breath by the time he stopped just inside the closest gate to the Wood. It had taken him the better part of an hour to get here.

Gods, he was out of shape. 

The gate opened out on the fields to the south where the dark patch of trees rose in the distance. He could practically see the haze of magic at the border a few meters beyond the gate, like a barely perceptible fog swirling in the air. Jaskier suddenly wasn't sure he could do this. It had been such a long time. The itch flared again painfully and he shuddered. He'd just thrown away everything that would make it fade. Crossing the border might make it worse, but staying would just make him suffer more.

Taking a deep breath, he strode quickly through the barrier before he could argue with himself anymore. But he only made it a few steps into the Wood before the thick embrace of magic squeezed the breath right out of his body in a sharp exhale. It was like stepping out of a cold, air conditioned building into a sweltering, humid heat. But it had nothing to do with temperature. His body tingled with pins and needles everywhere, but it was on the inside, everywhere at once. It was as if he could feel the traces of medication and chemicals floating in his bloodstream. Jaskier hummed, instinctively trying to fix the problem as the sensation intensified. He sucked in sudden breath.

“Haaaaaa. . .” Jaskier let out a wordless cry as his knees buckled. He was going to topple over like a tree, but strong arms caught him before he hit the ground, cradling him gently before laying him down on his side.

“I just love how you don't do anything half way,” Vaz muttered.

“Aw, fuck!” Jaskier panted as his back arched. “Hnnnn.” Fuck, it hurt, it hurt. He clenched his teeth as a pulse of magic washed through him, purging everything from his system that shouldn't be there. He had a stray thought that this could be handy if he was ever poisoned before everything went fuzzy again. The pain intensified until he thought he'd pass out, and then it stopped, the pressure popping like a burst soap bubble. When his vision cleared, he rolled limply onto his back, feeling lightheaded and soft. He was laying on the grass next to the road, feeling tired, yet oddly comfortable for the first time in a long time. Vaz was sitting cross legged at his side looking down at him with a raised brow. 

“Do you ah. . . always glow like that?”

“Hm?” Jaskier hummed, turning his head sleepily towards him. “Glow?”

“Like a lighting bug's ass,” Vaz confirmed.

Jaskier thought about it for a moment. “Probably burning the meds off. Conservation of energy,” he slurred as sleep crept up on him. “Better light than heat,” he muttered. “Might've set the grass on fire.” He closed his eyes feeling the warmth of the Dragon Scale against his skin. Jaskier sighed softly as the sensation spread across his chest.

“Right,” Vaz said, agreeing with him even though his tone said he had no idea what he was talking about. “If you fall asleep out here, your clothes are going to rot off of you.”

“Hn. You've seen me naked before,” Jaskier murmured before finally falling asleep.

*******

Jaskier sat on the bank of a wide river in a familiar patch of forest singing about smooth river rocks and lazy currents carrying dreamers towards their heart's desire. He paused and looked around. Was he dreaming about the Rusalka? He'd been thinking about the time Vaz had seen him naked when he fell asleep, so that might have sent him here. He was even wearing the same clothes as he was back then. But he didn't see the Rusalka anywhere. He wondered if she was still haunting the river. 

Twilight was falling and the stars were starting to peek out in the sky. There was an odd chirp and the rustle of grass nearby. Jaskier looked over towards the tall grasses and weeds to see the stalks waving wildly where something was passing through them and moving in his direction. He didn't know what it was, but oddly, he wasn't afraid. 

A pudgy, green lizard emerged from the grass as it snuffled at the ground like it was looking for something. It was the size of a large cat with little legs, a rounded belly, and a long neck. Tiny wings fluttered on it's back but they weren't strong enough to lift it. When it noticed him, it chirped happily and trundled over to crawl into his lap. It rucked up the fabric of his teal trousers with its blunt claws before settling and curling up. What in the world. . ? 

Smoothing a hand cautiously over the blunt ridges on its back, he felt smooth, warm scales beneath his fingers. It's tail curled around his arm as it sighed in contentment. 

“ _Ah, there you are_.” Borch's voice was warm and amused. 

Jaskier looked around trying to find the older man only to see a huge, golden beast striding towards him. Whoa. His neck craned up to see it staring down at him with Borch's kind eyes. “Uh, hello?”

“ _Forgive me for startling you. I was being cautious when we last saw one another._ ” Borch's voice echoed in his head.

“You're. . .wow.” The beast's scales were the same color as the one Borch had given him on the mountain. “ _You're_ the Golden Dragon,” Jaskier said with a touch of awe in his voice as his brain tried to wrap around the idea that Borch could shift his shape at will. Being able to see his true form felt like a gift.

“ _Indeed._ ” Borch settled down next to him, tucking his limbs under himself and curling his long tail around them. His wings remained folded and relaxed along his spine.

“Then why were you after the Green Dragon?” The baby lizard in his lap shifted and snuggled closer, it's tail tightening around his arm briefly before it sighed and relaxed again. 

“ _Because life is precious and this is the last first left for me._ ”

Jaskier studied the small lizard again and watched the waning twilight illuminate the mossy green of its scales. “It was a mother,” he murmured. He was holding a baby dragon in his lap. 

“ _It's time for you to continue on your chosen path,_ ” Borch told him. “ _You haven't reached your destination yet._ ”

“Where am I going?”

“ _You'll know when you get there._ ”

“But how-” Jaskier snapped awake with a sharp intake of breath. 

It was full dark, but the wash of the city lights hid the stars. He was still laying in the grass on the side of the road outside Ard Carraigh. There was no sign of the dragons. A tinny trill of music made him turn his head, and he saw Vaz sitting under a streetlight a few yards away. He was dressed in his traveling gear this time, complete with light leather armor. His sword sat in the sheath where it was propped against his pack. He was playing a game on a Modern smartphone. What an odd sight.

Jaskier stretched and groaned as his sore muscles protested. He felt several stitches in his clothes rip and his jeans suddenly got looser. When he sat up, one entire shirt sleeve came loose and hung sloppily off his bare shoulder. Shit. 

“What time is it?” he asked as he toed out of his crumbling boots and took his socks off, tossing the unraveling threads aside.

Vaz yawned. “Late.” He dropped his hands to his lap and closed the game before looking at him. “You better?”

Jaskier took a moment to assess. He was still hurting and sad, but it was no longer overwhelming him. It was like a sticky veil had been removed and he could see all of the things that made him feel bad, but they were no longer monstrous. And the pervading sense of helplessness that had kept him from moving forward was gone. His mind was clear and he felt more like himself than he had in a very long time. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I'm better.”

Vaz typed something on his phone and hit send.

“Who are you talking to?”

The other man held up a finger as the phone rang. He answered and put it on speaker. “Hey. He's up and he's lucid.”

“Jaskier?”

Hearing Lara say his stage name felt. . . odd. But it sounded much better and more _right_ than Julian ever had. 

“Hey,” he said. “I. . . “ He sighed, unsure of what to say. “I'm sorry.” He wasn't incapable of apologizing. There was just way more to it than that. But he didn't want to do it over the phone and he couldn't make himself go back into the city. He'd been slowly poisoning himself in there.

“I know,” she said softly. “I'll be right there.”

Well. That solved that, he guessed. Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's time for the healing to begin. I actually forgot about the dragon cuddles in this chapter, and I'm glad that was in here after everything that led up to this point.
> 
> Vaz has quickly become my favorite OC in this series and I love him dearly.


	8. Gentle Parting and Amicable Sadness

Jaskier sat in the grass outside Ard Carraigh, plucking at his crumbling clothing while he waited for Lara to arrive. He hoped she was bringing him something to wear. He hadn't realized how artificial the fibers were when he'd bought this, but he hadn't been paying attention. The vest had practically disintegrated and both shoulder seams of his shirt had come loose. He pulled the front panel free, baring his chest to the warm night air. Vaz chuckled where he still sat over under the streetlight.

“Got a little paunch on you now, I see.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jaskier said without any heat. He put a hand on his belly, feeling the soft skin there. He'd lost a lot of muscle tone because he never walked anywhere anymore. And while being on his feet in the kitchen kept him from getting really heavy, he was a bit doughier than he used to be. Having three meals a day full of processed foods was a lot more calories than what he used to eat while traveling. Snorting a laugh, he sighed heavily. He'd never heard of a fat Elf before and wondered how much his genetics had kept him from developing a huge gut. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Jaskier ran them back over his scalp to push his hair back only to have it flop back down into his eyes. He blew out a breath, making the long strands flutter in front of him before they settled again. That would definitely have to go. He tucked it behind his ears to keep it out of the way.

“How did you find me out here?” It hadn't been coincidence that Vaz had been here when he collapsed. 

The other man looked at him evenly. “I talked to Lara after you left the cafe and came back to your apartment with her. Waited downstairs for a while and saw her leave. When you took off at a run down the street, I followed you. Wasn't sure what you were going to do.”

Jaskier didn't have it in him to be mad. He was glad the other man was here.

“I've missed you, you know,” Vaz said quietly.

Jaskier folded his hands in his lap and tried not to pick at the unraveling denim of his jeans. The rusting zipper flaked beneath his fingers. “I didn't meant to stay away so long.” 

He really hadn't. Back when he was crawling away from the mountain, he'd just wanted some time. Time to figure out how he felt. Time to figure out where he was going. And time was the problem. He'd been obsessing about the future so much, he'd been missing the present. 

The sound of an approaching car made him look up and he saw Lara drive up to the gate and park on the side of the road. He squinted in the bright beams of the headlights before the engine went silent and the lights flicked off. Lara got out and went around to the trunk before coming back around with several bags. When his vision cleared after being whited out by the light, he saw she was wearing a terracotta blouse over dark brown trousers with red and blue flowers embroidered along the outside seam. Her soft leather boots padded quietly over the pavement and then silently over the grass as she came over towards him.

Jaskier felt a little silly sitting there in the grass waiting so he stood up, shucking the last scraps of denim from his legs and brushing away the remnants. His mouth quirked at the thought that it was a bit like being reborn. And then he frowned. He needed his notebook. Stepping forward, he snagged the notebook out of the lute case Lara carried and quickly started jotting down ideas. Lara stared at him and then looked questioningly at Vaz, who just shrugged.

“Don't worry. This is normal.”

“Hang on,” Jaskier said as he wrote one last thing before setting the notebook down next to his ruined clothes. “I wanted to get something down before I forgot.” He took the bags from her and set them out of the way so he could move forward and cup her face in his hands. “Thank you,” he said as emotion welled up in him. “I never said it. I just. . . didn't really know how.”

Lara curled her fingers gently around his wrists. “You're different. You look more like you out here,” she said quietly.

“That's not a bad thing, I hope.”

She smiled and laughed a little as tears welled in her eyes. “No. It a really good thing.” She let out a little sob as he pulled her in and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed closer. 

“I love the clothes,” he said. “Are they new?”

“No,” she murmured into his neck. “I've had them for a while. I got some for you too because I thought we could. . .” She took a shuddering breath and pulled back to look up at him. “I thought we could go into the Wood together. For a while,” she laughed as nerves got her. “It's not for me. I like it in theory but I could never stay here full time. But you. . . this is. . .”

“It's my home,” he said.

“Yeah.” Pulling away, she picked up one of the bags and held it out to him. “I don't think anybody is going to arrest you for public nudity or anything, but it's better to be safe than sorry.”

Jaskier didn't mind being naked, but traipsing around with his dick out would probably be more trouble than it was worth. “Thanks.” 

He dug around and pulled out a green outfit the color of summer leaves with terracotta and brown accents. The turquoise clothes he'd arrived in were also there, and they'd been cleaned and repaired. But he wasn't sure they'd fit and he glanced down at his belly again. 

“I had the new clothes let out a bit,” Lara said with a wince. “You, ah. . .”

“Got fat?”

She gave him a flat look. “You've put on a little weight, yeah.” But her expression softened and she sighed. “I didn't want to say anything. You were already dealing with a lot.”

“No. I wasn't dealing with anything. That was the problem,” he said as he pulled on the green trousers. They were still a little snug around the waist, but traveling on foot and eating healthier meals would solve that eventually. At least the boots Triss made him still fit. When he pulled on the shirt and doublet, Jaskier felt so much better. He gathered up what was left of his old clothes and threw them in the nearby waste bin.

“Come on,” she said and handed him the lute and his pack before picking up the last bag. 

“Where are we going?”

“There's a depot a little ways from here where the local farmers stable their mounts and work horses,” she said as she shouldered her pack. “Unless you want to sleep next to the gates.”

Jaskier glanced at the glow of the city. Earlier that day, he'd known he'd have to leave. He just hadn't expected to go this soon. But going back wasn't an option. 

“No,” he said. “I'd rather not.” 

Vaz pressed a few buttons on the phone before taking the sim card out and snapping it. He tossed the pieces and the phone into the bin. Then he settled his weapon comfortably on his hip and picked up his pack. 

“Let's go then.”

It was only about twenty minutes of travel before they reached a small cluster of buildings where they settled in a lean-to and laid out their bedrolls. 

“Are you going to be alright sleeping outside?” Jaskier asked Lara. She'd never joined him when he slept on the balcony at their apartment, saying it made her feel too exposed.

“I'll manage,” she said as she looked at the space between them. She'd set down her bedroll a couple feet away to give him space.

“Come here.” He snagged the edge of her blankets and pulled them flush against his. 

She sighed. “I wasn't sure. . ,” she said, hesitantly before blowing out a breath. 

Jaskier settled down and held his arms out to her until she sighed in relief and crawled forward to snuggle up next to him they way she always did on nights they cuddled. 

“Will you be able to sleep?” she asked as she rested her head on his shoulder and finally started to relax. Vaz was already snoring softly nearby.

“Hmm,” He was already starting to drift. “Yeah.” The hush of the trees and the animal sounds from the nearby stables were already forming a familiar lullaby. 

*******

Jaskier woke feeling more rested than he had in months. He was curled on his bedroll and he heard murmured voices from the direction of the fire pit. Sitting up and yawning, he blinked when he saw Vaz and Laura sitting on benches by a small campfire and chatting over steaming mugs. She smiled at him when she saw he was awake and started making another cup of coffee. 

“Morning, Buttercup.” Vaz grinned.

Lara laughed lightly as she poured hot water into another mug and set it aside to steep. Pulling out a small cloth bundle, she took out a decadent looking muffin and held it up enticingly.

“Oh, bless you for bringing breakfast,” Jaskier breathed as he got up. He made a quick trip to the privy and then the well to wash his hands before coming back to eat. The dense muffin was full of fruit and chocolate. Paired with the coffee, it was an excellent start to the day. 

“So what have you two been talking about?” Jaskier asked before taking a bite of muffin. 

“Vaz was telling me a rather interesting story about a Rusalka,” she said, her expression giving away nothing.

Jaskier paused mid-bite and blinked at her.

“You speak Elder Speech?” she asked, her tone only holding mild interest and nothing else.

“Sometimes.” He glanced at Vaz and narrowed his eyes. “It tends to happen around around magic and other people speaking it.”

“Hm,” she hummed as she took a casual sip of coffee. “I wondered if it was the sex.” 

Vaz burst out laughing and Jaskier could see Lara grinning behind the mug. He couldn't help but smile back as he recalled all the reasons he'd initially been attracted to her. 

“I'll be back in a few minutes,” Vaz said, still chuckling as he got up to go talk to one of the farmers who was riding by with a laden cart. 

“Yeah, you better run,” Jaskier muttered at his back. He chuckled when Vaz casually flipped him off without looking.

“Must have been romantic out there in the woods,” Lara continued.

“I'm pretty sure she intended to drown me when she called me to the riverside.”

Sobering, Lara emptied out the dregs of her mug in the grass before wiping it with a cloth from her bag. “Why didn't she? I didn't think monsters were that, uh. . . amorous. Don't they eat people?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “Same thing that always happens when something is supposed to kill me and doesn't. I sang to her.”

Lara eyed the lute case at his feet briefly before looking away again. It was obvious that she wanted to ask but didn't feel comfortable doing so. 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“For making you so afraid to talk to me about the things that mattered.” It must have been like walking around on eggshells. From his own personal experience tiptoeing around Geralt's feelings when the Witcher was feeling tetchy, he knew how awful and trapped it must have made her feel. 

“I wish. . .”

Jaskier winced at her wording, making her pause, but he tried to relax his expression so she could finish the thought.

“I wish you'd felt comfortable enough to talk to me,” she finished.

“It wasn't about being comfortable.” He swallowed and looked at the small campfire. “I didn't want to talk about it. It was. . . too much. I. . . fuck. It's still-”

“It's okay.” 

Jaskier stilled his leg where he'd been bouncing it. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. He may have magically cleansed his body of drugs, but he hadn't magically healed his feelings. That wasn't necessary a bad thing. That was too easy and it would probably feel artificial for everything to be. . .normal, for lack of a better word. Reaching for the lute, he pulled it from the case and checked the strings. Even after hanging in a tree in the mountains for who knows how long, it had held its tune. Lara sat quietly, like she was afraid of spooking him if she moved or said anything.

Jaskier started to play, slowly at first, getting a feel for the instrument after so long without it. But his body knew the way even if his mind was still trailing along behind him. He'd worried that his voice would have become rough from lack of use, but a few humming notes tangled sweetly with the lute's music like he'd spent time warming up. 

Then he started to sing. 

He sang of wandering, lost and alone with no stars as a guide until a bright light on the horizon showed the way. He sang of shelter and safety and love. And patience. And then moving on while holding that healing love close, never forgetting its kindness. Jaskier could hear Lara weeping quietly as tears pricked his own eyes. He couldn't stay and she knew it. And as she'd said, she couldn't come with him.

“Never think that I don't love you,” he said quietly as the last notes faded away. 

She tried to say something but huffed a soft sob instead. Setting the lute aside, he slid across the bench towards her and drew her into his arms. She clung to him as she calmed and he kissed her hair. They sat together quietly for a while until she was able to breathe easily again. She pulled back to look at him and smiled softly before pulling away to pack up her things. Jaskier watched her calmly, not saying anything as she pulled a couple of bundles out of her bag. One of them held more muffins, but the other was a leather pouch She pushed both of them across the bench before cinching up her bags.

“I noticed you could use a few things when I packed up your stuff.”

Opening the leather pouch, he saw a well appointed shaving kit complete with a beautiful razor, a fresh smelling bar of shaving soap, a short, soft bristle brush, a tortoiseshell comb, a sharp pair of shears for cutting hair, and a small mirror. 

“You don't like the beard?” he asked innocently. Truth be told, he already wanted the damn thing gone, but the dry look she gave him was worth it. 

“It's _your_ face,” she said and laughed, sniffing absently. “But something tells me, you won't want to keep it.” 

Jaskier closed the pouch and put it in his bag along with the cloth wrapped muffins. And then they stood together awkwardly for a moment, like they didn't want it to end but were desperate for it to finally be over so they could have some closure. She finally took the initiative and leaned forward to kiss him gently before pulling away. 

“Safe travels,” she said. And then she grabbed her bag and started walking back toward the city. 

Jaskier watched her go with a soft feeling of regret settling in his middle. Lara deserved someone that would stay with her. 

“Everything okay?” Vaz asked as he came back over with a small sack of whatever he'd bought from the farmer. 

“Yeah. It's okay.” Jaskier let out a long sigh and started packing up his own things while Vaz put out the fire. “So,” he said. “Essi's pregnant. How far along is she?”

“She's due sometime in the next couple of weeks, I think.”

Damn. He wouldn't be able to make fun of her pregnancy belly. And he'd miss the birth. Traveling in the Wood was not a quick process, but he wanted to be there for her. And he wanted to help her if he could. 

“Is she mad?”

“Seeing you alive and well will be enough,” Vaz said. “Relatively well, anyway. You kind of freaked me out yesterday.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier said as he shouldered his pack and they went out to the road so they could start walking west. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Probably,” Jaskier admitted. “But not right now. This is. . .” He blew out a breath. “A lot.” 

“It's alright. I know I give you a lot of shit, but seriously. The deep stuff can really mess with you if you don't deal with it.”

“I've just spent the last two years drowning myself in medication and cigarettes because of _deep stuff_.” And he wanted a smoke right now. Apparently, magic didn't do much for cravings and addiction. This was bound to be a rough trip to Oxenfurt. “I'm well aware of how fucked up I can get when there's something wrong with me.” Jaskier wasn't angry. He was just. . . weary.

“There's nothing wrong with you, Jaskier. You're Human.”

“No,” Jaskier huffed. “I'm an Elf.”

“And you think they don't get depressed?”

Jaskier looked at him with a raised brow. “Do they?” He'd never really spent much time with Elves aside from Elihal and he was fairly jovial most of the time. But he remembered the look of bone deep weariness and deeply buried distress on Filavandrel's face when he'd first met him. 

Vaz opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it. He was an asshole, but not a complete bastard. “I don't know what it's like to live for centuries,” he said finally.

“Neither do I,” Jaskier said. “And it scares me.” His voice was quiet as they continued walking along the age of the fields. 

“How so?”

“I grew up thinking I'd be lucky to get through a few decades. And now,” he said with a sigh. “I've got centuries to look forward to.” He swallowed. “And I'm scared that I'm going to outlive all of you. What am I going to do?”

“Hey.” Vaz stopped and snagged his sleeve. “It's okay.”

“It's really not.”

“Could you talk to Elihal about this? I'm not sure how old he is or how he feels about it, but he's got to have a better idea of what you're going through.”  
“I'll ask.” And the Elf would most likely be willing to talk to him about it, unlike some others.

“Alright. Good. Until then, stick with me, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” It was easier to do this, knowing he didn't have to do it by himself. He had no idea why he'd thought he needed to handle everything alone. They walked on with the sun rising behind them as they continued to head west.


	9. Home Is Where Your People Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for some much needed comfort
> 
> (I've updated the tags to include 'Emotional Hurt/Comfort' because this story isn't all about pain and I forgot that.)

The next morning after camping next to a stream, Jaskier sat at the water's edge while Vaz cut his hair. He'd already shaved with the new razor and it was odd to feel the breeze across his bare cheeks and chin. The snip of the silver shears floated on the air as Jaskier stared out over the burbling water. 

“You seem to have a lot of practice at this,” he said.

Vaz snorted and snipped another lock of hair before combing down another layer from the crown of Jaskier's head. “Brett can't cut his hair to save his life. If I don't keep on top of it, he'll hack at it with a knife to get it out out of his face. It always looks awful.”

Vaz on the other hand, always seemed to keep his dark hair trimmed cleanly. The only time Jaskier could recall seeing him truly unkempt was when he was recovering from being stabbed. 

“And besides,” Vaz continued. “It can be dangerous to have your fringe flopping about when you're in a fight. Not sure how Geralt can stand dealing with his hair being as long as it is.” 

Jaskier didn't say anything as he got a little lost in thought about how soft Geralt's hair was when he ran his fingers through it. And how the Witcher would lean back into his touch when Jaskier was massaging his scalp. It made him feel heavy and a bit sad. He sat quietly while Vaz finished. The other man had been gathering the hair trimmings on top of the rock beside him and when he was done, he tossed them into the fire. Jaskier's nose twitched at the smell.

“Really?”

“Habit,” he shrugged. “But trust me, it's better to be safe than sorry. Hair can be used in a lot of awful spells.”

“You really think some mage will come out here off the beaten path to take my hair clippings and use them in a spell? You think they'd come out here at all?” He stood and brushed off his shoulders before putting his doublet back on. 

A portal opened up next to them and Jaskier instinctively stepped in front of Vaz. He just had to open his mouth, didn't he.

“The fuck are you doing?” Vaz said as he drew his sword and hauled Jaskier out of they way with an arm around his waist.

Triss stepped through the shimmering opening and regarded them with a raised brow. She wore a leather vest with a short teal jacket over dark pants and short, heeled boots. Her hair was pulled back softly from her face. 

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked as the portal winked shut behind her.

“Who are-”

“Triss!” Jaskier said at the same time, cutting Vaz off. “What are you doing here?” He slipped out of Vaz's loosening grasp and went over to hug her. She embraced him warmly and held onto him for a moment before moving back and holding him at arm's length.

“Where have you been?” She asked, her expression pinched with worry. “I've been looking for you for ages.”

“Why?”

Triss gave him an exasperated look, but didn't reply. She cupped his cheek and he felt the warmth of her magic, but he shut himself tight, keeping her from looking at him any more deeply than a surface level. 

“You've gotten better,” she said as she dropped her hands to her sides and retreated mentally and physically by moving back a step. He didn't quite agree. It wasn't like he practiced, but he really didn't want her to see how messed up he'd made himself while he'd been away.

“You ah, want to introduce me to your friend?” Vaz said, as he sheathed his sword and eyed Triss warily. He wasn't quite as tweaked around magic as Brett was, but he was wary of strangers in general.

“Triss Marigold, meet my friend Vaz Vazillio.” His first name was actually Sasha, but he never used it and threatened others who did. “Vaz, this is Triss. I met her in Vizima when I was competing in the Bardic Festival. She was one of the judges.”

“Marigold,” Vaz said and heaved a weary sigh. “Foltest's mage. Great.”

“I am more than my position, Mr. Vazillio,” she said evenly. 

“Cut it out, Vaz. She's my friend.”

“Jaskier, everyone likes you. Of course she's your friend.”

Not everyone. Jaskier was pretty sure Yennefer would never like him, and he'd lost count of the number of people that were irritated by his presence in general when they saw him. 

“She's a Sorceress. You know that, right?” Vaz said, clearly annoyed.

Jaskier threw his arms out wide. “Hello. Walking magic detector here. Of course I know,” he said as he dropped his arms to his sides again. “I knew it the moment we met. Don't be a dick.”

“Right, sorry.” Vaz turned to Triss and nodded in grudging apology. “I've never dealt with a sorceress that wasn't solely out for her own interests at the expense of others.”

“And how many have you met?” she asked.

“Only one, and that was enough.”

“I'm not Phillipa.” Her voice chilled slightly.

Vaz frowned. “How did you. . . never mind,” Vaz said as he shook his head. “What can we do for you?” he asked, without enthusiasm.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “I was going to offer to portal you to wherever you were going, but you can walk for all I care.” She turned to Jaskier. “Is there somewhere _you'd_ like to go, Jaskier?” She sounded like she was hinting at something, like there was somewhere he should be going, but he didn't know where it was. 

Vaz glowered at her.

“Yeah, actually. We're heading to Oxenfurt and it would be great if we could get there immediately.”

“Come on,” Vaz said. “You aren't really going to trust your limbs to a portal voluntarily, are you? You could come out in pieces on the other side.”

Jaskier bit back an angry retort. “I want to be there for Essi before she has the baby.” 

Triss smiled, her expression blooming with warm surprise. “Miss Daven is pregnant?”

“Yeah.” Jaskier grinned. “I'm gong to be an uncle. And it's Mrs. Merrill now. She and Brett got married after the festival.”

“Good for them,” she said with genuine happiness.

Vaz eyed the exchange warily until Jaskier thumped his arm with the back of his hand. “Seriously. Stop being your asshole self.” Jaskier stared at him until the other man finally relented. “I need your help with this. I pass out every time I go through a portal.” Even with practice, he still had trouble staying conscious. 

“Pass out how? Do you get to the other side first?”

“No. It's usually somewhere right in the middle. I've only made it all the way through once before.” He'd helped Triss carry Geralt through a portal when he'd been injured, but Jaskier had ended up unconscious immediately after. “Please.”

Vaz's frown deepened before he finally relented. “Alright, alright. Get your stuff then. I'll clean up.” 

As Jaskier packed up the shaving kit, he moved around camp picking up his things and packed them away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vaz step towards Triss and speak low. Jaskier's Elven hearing was much better than a Human's and he heard him speaking clearly even though they were practically whispering.

“How good are you at portals?” he asked her.

“Still don't trust me?”

Vaz sighed. “It's not about trust. He's really important to me and I don't want him to get hurt, even accidentally. He's already been through a lot.”

“I know,” she said, her voice softening. “And we have at least one thing in common in that regard. I care about him a great deal,” she said quietly. “My portals are safe for travel, and I'm well rested and calm. I wouldn't have offered had I thought there was a risk he might be harmed.”

“Okay,” Vaz sighed. “Thank you.”

Jaskier stood, holding his bag while he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat as he listened to them discuss how much they cared about him. He was so stupid. Even if he'd moped for months after the breakup, there were so many better places he could have done it. By running off to Ard Carraigh, all he'd done was worry the people who loved him and hurt Lara by shoving his way into her life and then leaving. The rational part of him knew that last part wasn't quite right, but it was hard to see that and believe it just now. 

Vaz came over and buried the fire before packing up his own things and reaching for Jaskier's bags. “I'm going to take our stuff through first, and then I'll come back for you.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said as he handed his pack over. But he held onto his lute and refused to give it up when Vaz reached for it. “I can't.”

“I don't want to risk breaking it if I have to carry you,” Vaz said reasonably.

“Here.” Triss came over and held out her hand. “I'll hold it for you. Nothing will happen to it. I promise.”

Jaskier looked at her for a moment before reluctantly handing the instrument over. Triss looped the strap of the case over her shoulder to keep her hands free and opened a portal in front of them. Jaskier could see the faint outline of the gates of Oxenfurt University through the shimmering veil and he watched Vaz take their things through before coming back and putting an arm around his waist.

“I'm going to try to walk through on my own,” Jaskier said but didn't push him away.

“Don't worry about it.”

But as they moved closer, Jaskier's legs started to buckle before they even got close. “Fuck,” he muttered as he head started to pound. Maybe he'd been cut off from magic too long and it was hitting him harder than usual. He didn't protest as Vaz shifted and hauled him up across his shoulders so he could carry him closer. 

“Hang on, I've got you,” Vaz murmured. 

Jaskier was out before they even crossed through.

*******

When Jaskier woke, he was laying on a comfortable bed in a strange room. He heard Essi swearing from somewhere by his feet.

“Do you really want your baby's first word to be 'fuck'?” he asked.

“Yes. And then we can both swear at you for being such a stubborn asshole,” she said, her voice quavering. Fuck.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Jaskier saw an angry, extremely pregnant Essi glaring at him from a cushioned chair in the corner of the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest in what was probably meant to be a stern posture, but the effect was spoiled by the swell of her belly. She wore a high-waisted floor length dress of cobalt blue and the light fabric flowed down to her feet. Sucking in a breath, she reached down to smooth her hand over her middle and winced. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. Gods, what if she was going into labor?

She breathed through it and glared at him again. “I'm fine.” And then her face crumpled as she sniffed and wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand. “Where have you been?”

Jaskier resigned himself, knowing that he'd probably be answering that question a lot. “I'm sorry. I . . . I didn't want to bother you.”

“Don't be stupid,” she snapped, suddenly angry again. “Get over here so I can hug you. Getting my fat ass out of this chair requires three people and a winch.” 

Jaskier got out of the bed and went over kneel by the chair, noting that his lute was tucked safely into the other corner of the room. He carefully hugged her and kissed her cheek as he brushed the rest of the tears away. “You look beautiful.” 

“You're full of shit.” Her mouth curled in a smirking smile. “But I love you, so it's okay.”

He lowered his his hands but left them hovering as he looked at her apologetically. “May I?”

“Of course.” She placed his hands gently on her belly and he leaned down to press his cheek between them. 

For a few moments, he just listened to her breathe. It was such an odd feeling. She was creating a life inside her and he could feel the soft spark of it. Then there was a small poke against his cheek and he pulled back, as a huge smile broke out on his face. She was grinning at him. 

“That's my boy. Kicking you in the face for me.” She held out her hands. “Now help me up. I have to pee.”

Jaskier helped lever her up out of the chair and stepped outside for a moment so she could use the chamber pot. He stood in a short hallway and realized that this must be Essi's house. She and Brett had still been looking for something permanent before he'd left. Through a nearby doorway, he could see a parlor where Essi's lute stood on a small stand. There were sheets of music spread over a low table next to a variety of instruments. There was a simple wooden flute and the rosewood ocarina he'd given her for her birthday a few years ago, as well as a dulcimer and a rebec. The small stringed instrument looked like a miniature lute, but it had a bow like a violin.

When Essi came out, she led the way through the parlor. Jaskier stopped to look at the sheet music for a moment. 

“Thinking of branching out to other instruments?”

She hummed an annoyed growl in her throat. “Can't play my lute with the belly, so I've been experimenting. But I've had to take a break lately.” She smoothed a hand over her stomach. “There's not much room in here anymore, so getting a full breath to sing and play woodwinds has been hard. Even smaller stringed instruments are a bit much and my fingers are so swollen half the time.” She grimaced. “Can't do much except compose and read lately.”

They went into a cozy kitchen that had a large table in the center of the room. Shelves and cabinets lined the walls. Shani stood at the stove where she was putting a kettle on the iron stove top next to the hearth. She smiled at Jaskier when they came in.

“You don't look any worse for wear. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Good, considering that's the second time I've passed out in two days.” He idly wondered if he was going to end up with brain damage with all the times he'd ended up unconscious over the years. 

“Shani's been hanging out with me while Brett is in Novigrad,” Essi told him as she grabbed a plate of cookies from the counter and started eating them. She growled when Shani moved to take the plate away from her. “They're oatmeal with raisins and carrots, so this is fruits and vegetables,” she said as she crammed one into her mouth. 

Shani shook her head and gave up with a soft sigh going over to the counter to get a tea pot ready. She added a couple of ingredients from the jars on the shelf above her.

“Vaz is out picking up some things at the market for us,” Shani said as she got the kettle and poured hot water into the teapot. “He should be back in a little bit. Your friend Triss had to go back to Vizima.”

Jaskier was mildly disappointed by that, but he understood. Triss was King Foltest's advisor and she couldn't go wandering around looking for wayward bards all the time. But at least Vaz had stuck around. He wanted to talk to him more.

“Are you hungry?” Essi asked around a mouthful of cookie.

He was, actually. “I have some muffins in my bag,” he offered.

Essi swallowed the bite of cookie. “Not anymore, you don't.”

Jaskier laughed and sat at the table, not at all bothered that she'd gone through his things. She had a sixth sense for detecting chocolate and it was no use hiding it.

“They were really good,” she said. “Where did you get them?”

“A cafe in Ard Carraigh. I was working there and I baked a lot on the weekends.”

Essi came over and maneuvered her way into the chair next to him. “Did you see Lara?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said quietly. “She bought the cafe a few months after I got there and we. . .” He paused as he remembered everything that they'd done in the city together. It almost felt like it had been another person in his place, like he was watching someone else in his memories. “We lived together.”

“What did she say about you not showing up all those years ago?”

“She didn't say anything about it actually.” Until Lara had finally talked to him openly a couple days ago, he'd never known how she'd felt about him leaving her behind the first time without a word.

After reuniting in the Wood, Jaskier had told Essi everything about his first trip and the whole side trip of being stranded in Ard Carraigh for a week. He could always tell her anything and he was struck again by how skewed his thinking had been when he came back down from the mountain. He wasn't sure why he'd been so afraid of talking to her. They'd spent so many nights staying up late talking about anything and everything. And sometimes, they could just sit in companionable silence. 

Jaskier used to be able to do that with Geralt. He'd often filled the silence with chatter and music on the road while the Witcher rode silently beside him. But it had gotten harder towards the end. The growing space between them had been more difficult to bridge and the times he'd lapsed into a pained, uncomfortable silence kept increasing. Jaskier sighed when Essi took his hand and squeezed it. But she didn't say anything. She always seemed to know and he was grateful for her silent support as he squeezed her hand back. 

Coming back had been the right decision.


	10. Coming Down from the Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, Dear Readers. I hope you're doing well.
> 
> In reading this chapter before posting it, I'm reminded that healing is a process and that sometimes, pain can creep back up on you before you can find a way through to the other side. Hold tight through the rough patches because it will get better. In my experience, that applies to so many things.

Jaskier sat with Essi at her kitchen table wondering why he'd stayed away so long. Shani was watching them quietly as she brought over a tray with the pot of tea and matching cups. “Will you be okay for a bit while I go over to the clinic?”

“We're good,” Essi told her. “Milo got a little fussed earlier, but he's calm now.”

“Alright. Come get me if you need anything,” Shani said before turning to Jaskier. “The clinic is just north of the Western Gate. I'll be back later this evening.” And then she headed out the the back door.

“She got the clinic set up, then?”

“With your help, yeah.” Essi tore apart the cookie in her hand and examined the crumbs before nibbling on a piece absently. “She was disappointed that you couldn't be there when it opened. All of the investors were there, or at least they sent representatives. You were the only one who wasn't there at all. Most of them were self important asses, but still. You did a really good thing and she wanted you to see it.”

When Jaskier found out that Shani was trying to open a clinic in the city to help students learn and to offer medical care to everyone, he'd tapped into his funds to help her. She'd initially refused, saying that it was too much, but he'd managed to charm her into it. It was only money and he really didn't need most of what he had. After that, he'd subtly spread the word about how fashionable it was to offer support, and the nobles couldn't throw their money at the project fast enough. Most of them cared more about their reputations than what the money would buy, but it would be put to good use.

“I'd really like to see it,” he said. 

“It will probably have to wait until after Milo deigns to make an appearance,” she said, rubbing her belly. 

“Milo? How do you know it's a boy?” It wasn't like they could do a sonogram.

She grinned. “Agatha is convinced. She's been really annoying and incredibly helpful with all the advice. But it might be a Mila. You never know.”

“How is she doing?” He hadn't seen Agatha for a while.

The eccentric professor was an older woman who seemed to have done anything and everything under the sun based on her stories and various hobbies. Jaskier had been to her rooms at the university once, and it was a cornucopia of collected items from her travels. And there was a whole corner in her study filled with the various gifts suitors had given her over the years. He'd felt a little claustrophobic amongst the shelves and tables filled with eclectic clutter, but his curiosity and wonder at the sheer amount of stuff had kept it mostly at bay.

“She's taken up gardening now,” Essi laughed. “It's like the Wood has started to invade her apartment and take it over. There are mage lights hanging everywhere. I think she's trying to experiment with different colors to see if they affect the growth. We should go over and visit. She's looking for people to sing to her plants, and she'd be thrilled to see you.”

Agatha was also a voracious flirt who had twice as much energy as some people half her age. Jaskier wasn't sure if he was ready to be the focus of her attention just yet. While she had a small horde of adult aged children that visited frequently, she'd never been married, choosing to 'sample all life had to offer' instead of settling for a steady partnership. He wondered how many grandchildren she had now. 

The back door opened and Vaz came in carrying a bag in the crook of his arm and a large bronze basin under the other. A petite young woman in a pair of leather trousers and an apricot blouse came in behind him.

“Jaskier!” she cried as she pushed her way past Vaz to run over.

Jaskier stood with a smile and caught her as she threw her arms around him. “How are you, Natalie?”

She pulled back and smiled up at him. “I'm really good,” she said before she turned in Jaskier's arms to glower at her uncle where he stood in the doorway. “Why didn't you tell me he was here, you dick?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Vaz said with a chuckle as he set the bag on the table and carried the basin into the other room. 

“Well, it _is_ a pretty great surprise.” she said to Jaskier as she gave him another hug before going over to start pulling things out of the bag. She eyed the mostly empty plate in front of Essi. “I told her you'd eat them all,” she said and grinned when Essi stuck her tongue out at her before turning back to Jaskier. “So how long are you staying this time? It's pretty early in the year.”

True. Jaskier usually visited in the fall on his way up into the mountains for the winter. It was unusual for him to be here in the beginning of the summer. 

“Are you okay?” Natalie asked hesitantly as she paused with her hands on the bag.

Jaskier looked up to see her watching him in concern. Apparently, he hadn't been schooling his features well enough. But then again, he never did with friends and family. “I'm okay, just. . . it's been a rough couple of years and I'm not sure what I'm doing at the moment.” He squeezed Essi's fingers when she took his hand again. “For now, I have no specific plans. It's just good to be with family again.”

“Good. I've missed your cooking,” Natalie continued as she continued pulling items out of the bag. Vaz had apparently gone grocery shopping because there was spinach, asparagus, small carrots, and a large paper wrapped package. Jaskier could detect the faint hint of pork. 

“Would you like me to make something?” Jaskier asked indulgently, voicing her question out loud, knowing that's what she was getting at and not minding at all.

“Since you're offering,” Natalie said with a sweet smile. 

Jaskier gave her a dry look before squeezing Essi's hand one last time and getting up to check the cut of meat and start rummaging through the cabinets and pantry. He already had a couple of ideas, and several winters of cooking with Vesemir had given him plenty of experience cooking over a fire instead of an electric stove. They'd also installed a wood fueled brick oven in the cafe in Ard Carraigh last year, and it had increased business quiet a bit. Jaskier had always thought it was strange that in a Modern City full of all the conveniences, people were still drawn to Old World goods and cooking. This would also help him settle. The routine of preparing a recipe was calming. A bowl of fruit sat on the side board containing an apple and a few figs, and there was flower and eggs for baking. Time to make some pies. 

Vaz came back in from the other room and they all spent the afternoon chatting while Jaskier made dough for hand pies filled with roasted the pork, figs, and garlic, along with the cheese that he'd found in the pantry. While he worked, they filled him in on what he'd missed while he'd been away from the Wood.

King Vizimir of Redania finally had a son after having two daughters that he hadn't been able to marry off to other rulers yet. It was rumored that one of them had been packed off to the temple in Ellander to become a priestess after Foltest had refused her hand. Jaskier focused on the pastry dough and tried not to think of why Foltest hadn't been interested. He'd been too busy having a daughter with his own sister. The girl had also been sent to the temple until she could could be taught how to be around people. She hadn't even be able to speak when he'd first met her. But then again, spending your first decade cursed to be a Striga was probably hard on the socialization skills. He wondered how she was doing. 

Bernie and the kids were doing well and Jaskier was struck suddenly by the thought that Cinia, the Halfling's oldest daughter, was sixteen years old now. That would make Tangerinka twelve and Franklin nine. He'd missed so much. Jaskier couldn't see them very often, so the times he was able to visit were precious. But Gors Velen wasn't too far away. Maybe he'd nip over this fall once Essi was settled with the baby. There were always harvest festivals looking for bards and it would be good to travel again. He hummed a bit as he worked and got distracted enough that he lost the train of conversation as they went through the rounds of what the various rulers in the north were doing. But when he heard Pavetta mentioned, Jaskier paused.

“What was that?” he asked as he stilled his hands where they were rolling out the dough.

“Pavetta and her husband,” Essi said. “They were lost at sea on their way back to Cintra a few weeks ago.”

“What about their child?” Jaskier's heart fluttered and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Vaz looked at him oddly for a moment. “She wasn't with them. Queen Calanthe and her Consort are raising her now.”

Pavetta and Duny were dead, and their daughter was alone. 

Well. Not alone. Jaskier doubted royal children were ever truly left alone no matter what they were doing. But she probably wasn't even five years old yet and she'd lost her mother. Jaskier was overcome with a heavy feeling of sadness and he had to sit down. He laid he hands in his lap, ignoring the flour from his dusty fingers as it got all over his trousers. 

“What's wrong?” Essi asked him, concerned. 

“Sorry. It's just. . .” He blew out a breath. “I was there when they got married. And now they're gone.” He'd never told anyone about Geralt calling for the Law of Surprise or what he'd experienced during the banquet. But now that the girl's parents were dead, did that mean Geralt had to go get her now? Would he even want to? He'd vowed never to return to Cintra and had given up on claiming the child. But so many things had changed. Jaskier's middle twisted with an odd tug that he hadn't felt in years. “I'll be alright,” Jaskier said finally. “It just hit me harder than I thought it would.”

Returning to the counter, he continued rolling out the dough and got the pies ready to put in the oven. But his heart weighed heavily in his chest despite being cut to pieces by the Witcher. This was hard. He focused on shaping dough and adding the filling. He was able to push the morose thoughts to the back burner for the time being. 

Shani returned while the pies were cooling on the counter and Jaskier was finishing the carrots and tossing the salad of spinach greens and apples. Dinner was good while they chatted about the baby. He was due any day now and Essi confessed that the novelty of pregnancy had worn off long ago and she was ready to get on with it. She retired early and Shani went with her. With no phones in the wood, she was bunking with Essi so she'd be ready at any time. They were planning to have the birth right here. Jaskier figured that's what the basin Vaz had brought was for. 

Natalie said good evening and went back to her rooms at the University. She'd been traveling with a group of mummers but was taking the summer off to work on the next part of her education. When fall arrived, she'd be heading back out with the troupe when they returned from Poviss and kept going toward Toussaint for the winter.

Jaskier had done well enough with his emotions through all of that, even when Essi offered him the use of the guest room indefinitely. He intended to find a place of his own eventually, but it was good that he had a comfortable place to stay, especially when she needed help. But as he went back to the room where he'd woken up earlier, he started thinking about all of the things he'd left at Kaer Morhen and realized he'd probably never get them back. And then he kicked himself for thinking about his wardrobe instead of the Witchers who lived there. Would he ever see them again? 

“Shit,” he muttered as he took off his doublet and tossed it on the chair in the corner.

“You alright?” Vaz asked him as he came in. Essi had also invited Vaz to stay, though there was only the one spare room for them to share. Jaskier didn't mind bunking with him. He and Vaz had shared close quarters while on the road before and it was a fairly large bed. And to be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to be alone just now. If Essi wasn't so close to her due date, he probably would have gone in to sleep with her.

“I'm fine.”

“Uh-huh.” The tone of the other man's voice held a healthy dose of disbelief, but he didn't push. 

Jaskier ignored him as he stripped down to his small clothes and lay on the bed. After cooking over the fire all afternoon, it was too hot to be under the covers. Vaz snuffed out the candle, leaving them in the dark with wisps of lingering smoke making Jaskier's nose twitch. But he couldn't sleep. He'd been exhausted those first two nights in the Wood and the relief of feeling magic curling around him again had been comforting in a way he couldn't quite describe. But right now, sleep seemed far away. He was tired, but his thoughts kept dancing around, keeping him up. He felt the weight of all that had happened in the last couple years. And the absence of the things that he had lost. 

Being in the Wood without Geralt felt. . . wrong. Like something vital was missing from his life. He'd ignored it easily enough in Ard Carraigh with Lara. There was nothing to remind him there. But here, the empty space inside him yawned, deep and cold where the warmth of the Witcher used to be. Jaskier shut his eyes tight and tried to ignore the sting of impending tears. When he couldn't hold them back, he he rolled onto his side to face the wall. He couldn't quite stifle the soft sob and hiccuping intake of breath and he shifted to get up. He'd rather go cry on the sofa in the parlor than disturb Vaz. But an arm curled around his waist to keep him still.

“Hey.” Vaz's voice was a soft whisper in the dark. “Relax,” he said, as he pressed up behind him. He was wearing a soft shirt that was thin from wear and washing. Jaskier had teased him about the state of it once. The lacing at the neckline had long since been discarded when the holes wore through so the collar lay open and flapping. But Vaz had vowed to keep it until it fell apart completely. 

Jaskier tried to keep the emotions in but just couldn't manage. So he lay crying quietly. He could hear the faint sound of Essi snoring from down the hall, and he didn't want to disturb her. Vaz's quiet weight pressed against his back kept him from spiraling down too far. But he couldn't seem to stop. When he started traveling again in the fall, he'd be doing it alone. His thoughts kept shuffling through all the things he'd be missing when Geralt wasn't there. Part of what got him through when they traveled separately before was the reassurance that they'd meet back up. But now he'd never have that again.

“What happened?” Vaz asked gently. 

It was just a nudge, but Jaskier realized that he'd been desperate for someone to ask him. So far, everyone had been asking him if he'd been alright. But nobody had actually asked what happened to him. Except for Vaz. But Jaskier had been too unsettled to talk back in Ard Carraigh.

“He left me,” he said in a broken whisper. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed miserably. “He was angry,” he sniffed. “Said that all the bad things that happened to him were because of me.”

“The fuck?”

Jaskier took a couple huffing breaths. “He said that if life could give him one blessing, it would be to take me off his hands.”

Vaz's arm curled a little tighter around him. “Shit,” he muttered.

“I figured he was just angry. He's gotten pissed off before. But this was. . . different. Everything's been different since. . .” Jaskier realized, as he wiped at his eyes and sniffed, that he hadn't told anyone about what happened in Rinde. He wasn't sure he was ready to dig that deep yet. “I told him I'd wait at the tavern where we started. I wanted to give him some time to calm down.” He huffed another sniff. “But he never came. I waited three weeks. . .and. . .” A fresh wave of tears drowned him again. It hurt. It hurt so much. 

He waited for Vaz to give some empty platitude about how he was better off or how Geralt was the one missing out. But instead, he just held him quietly offering his presence as reassurance that he wasn't alone. 

“Maybe he's better off without me,” Jaskier said finally, feeling like he was supposed to say something. He knew it wasn't true. It was a stupid thing to say. It was true that he could be distracting and Geralt had been injured trying to protect him before. But Jaskier's life had been threatened because of the other man more than once, so it seemed to be a trade off for them both. 

“Do I have to tell you how stupid that is?” Vaz grumbled against the back of his neck.

“No.” Jaskier's voice was thick and sullen and his sinuses throbbed with pressure from crying. He was too miserable to think about this clearly. 

“Have you seen him at all since then?”

“No.”

“You want me to ask around and find out where he is?”

“ _No_!” Jaskier hissed, tensing as he sniffed wetly. “I don't. . . just leave it alone.” He took an unsteady breath. “Please. I'll find him myself.” Eventually. Maybe. 

“Alright. But it's an open offer,” Vaz said quietly. “Whenever you're ready.”

Jaskier sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Okay.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I think it was going to happen one way or another,” he said finally. “We weren't going to be together forever.” He waited for his inner voice of reason to tell him it wasn't true, that he was being melodramatic again. But it stayed silent instead, like it was agreeing with him. What a horrible thought. 

It took him a long time to fall asleep.


	11. Special Request

Jaskier felt tired and a bit wrung out after telling Vaz about what had happened on the mountain and he wasn't up to talking about it further. But the other man didn't ask about it again before he went out on business of his own the next day. Jaskier spent his time with Essi and Shani as they walked him through what was going to happen when Essi went into labor. Brett wasn't back from Novigrad yet, but he was due back any time. 

“Why did he have to go when you're so close?” Jaskier asked her a couple days later as he prepped vegetables to make soup stock. 

“He couldn't say,” she said from her seat across the table. “Stop frowning,” she added when his brow furrowed. 

A small piece of potato hit him on the forehead and Jaskier shot her a look. “I thought he quit caravan work.” He was a traveling guard as part of a caravan. But the caravan itself was just a cover for the covert work he and Vaz did for Stellan as they traveled and ferried information between countries. They sometimes worked with Dijkstra who was some sort of spymaster. From what Jaskier had been able to work out after meeting him, he worked for King Vizimir of Redania. He'd once offered Jaskier a job, but he'd turned him down. 

“He did quit. But I think he went to see Stellan about something. He burned the letter he got after reading it, but I caught a glimpse of the handwriting.” She shrugged. “I didn't ask. I know what he really did for a living, but I don't need to know every single thing he does.”

“Alright.”

“He told me what you said to him before. Back in Novigrad when Vaz got hurt.” 

Jaskier stopped chopping carrots and looked at her. He wasn't quite sure what the expression on her face meant. She could be calm or annoyed, it was hard to tell right now. 

“I just wanted him to be honest with you. He and Stellan were hiding things from me when I first came into the Wood with them. And then they dumped me in Ard Carraigh when their real job got too dangerous for me.” They'd told him he was a liability and paid Geralt to bring him to the nearest Modern City. And the Witcher had left him there on his own. Jaskier's eyes dropped down to the cutting board as a fresh wave of pain bloomed in his chest. “You're my only family. I. . .” He sighed heavily.

“If I didn't weigh a ton I would come over there and hug you.” Essi smiled at him softly from across the table. 

Jaskier went around and leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead while she wrapped her arms around him. “I won't apologize for worrying about you.”

“I know. Its. . . oh,” she put a hand on her stomach. “Oh, that's. . .” she sucked in a breath.

“Breathe,” Jaskier told her as he rubbed her back. 

Essi obligingly took a breath, moaning softly as she exhaled slowly. “Oh, that's really. . . wow. You okay down there, kiddo?” She sat quietly breathing and rubbing her stomach. “Whew,” she said when it was over. “I think we're on our way to showtime.”

“Right now?”

“No, not right now,” she said, patting his hip reassuringly. “I've been told it's going to start out small first. But that was the strongest one I've felt so far.”

“It's happened before? How long has it been going on?” Jaskier wasn't panicked necessarily, but he was a bit alarmed that she may have been hiding it from everyone.

“Just since this morning. But it's only been a little uncomfortable. That was the first one that actually hurt.”

“Does Shani know?”

“Yes,” Shani called from the parlor. “She's fine.”

“Oh. Uh. . . is there anything I can do?”

“Just be here. Shani will be here and one of her assistants will come over from the clinic when it's time. But until then, I just need to work my way through it.” Her smile wobbled a little and she clutched his hand. She was really nervous. 

“I'm not going anywhere.” Jaskier felt a sudden clench in his middle, like he'd just lied somehow. Fuck magic and portents. He wasn't leaving if he had any say in the matter. He squeezed her hand and gave her a reassuring smile before going back over to continue making soup. He briefly checked the kettle of water that was simmering over the fire. But before he could add anything to it, there was a knock on the front door.

“I'll get it,” he said before she could get up. 

Jaskier headed to the front door, waving at Shani who was getting up from the sofa where she'd been reading. When he went into the small foyer and swung the door open, he stopped and blinked at the man standing on the other side. Mousesack stood on the doorstep flanked by two men in common clothing that held themselves like guards. Jaskier hadn't seen the Druid since he and Geralt left the palace in Cintra. Putting a neutral expression on his face, he tried to hide his alarm. He hoped the other man couldn't hear the thumping of his heart. 

“Can I help you?”

“Jaskier,” he said with a small nod. “I don't know if you remember-”

“I remember,” Jaskier said evenly as he stepped out onto the stoop and closed the door behind him. It left him outside with them on his own, but he didn't want them in Essi's house. And there were a few people about, so he wasn't completely alone. “What do you want, Mousesack? Or rather, what does _she_ want?” He wouldn't be here without Calanthe's say so.

The Druid breathed in deeply and regarded him with a calm expression. “I would like to extend an invitation to you. Her highness would like you to play for her.”

“Yeeeah. Subterfuge isn't really your thing is it? What does she really want?” Jaskier should have been afraid. There was nothing to stop them from hurting him or taking him somewhere if they decided to make an issue of it. The two guards were tall and muscled, and even though they didn't look armed, they'd probably have no trouble dealing with him. But if they wanted to do either of those things, he figured they wouldn't knock on the door first.

“As I said, she would like you to play for her. You made quite an impression during your visit at court. But you've been somewhat hard to find. She was quite insistent that I invite you as soon as you were found.” 

Come to think of it, Jaskier wasn't quite sure _how_ they'd found him. He'd traveled directly from Ard Carraigh to Oxenfurt through a portal, and he hadn't performed yet since returning to the Wood. He'd barely even left Essi's house so nobody should know he was here.

“How did you find me?”

“The queen makes it her business to know where people are,” Mousesack replied evenly.

Jaskier had no doubt of that. She'd closed the borders of Cintra a few years ago, so they probably watched the roads carefully. But Oxenfurt was in Redania. 

“Please extend my apologies to Her Majesty, but I'm busy.” He wasn't going. He didn't trust Calanthe.

“It's unwise to refuse a royal request.” Mousesack seemed surprised that he'd refused, and his tone held a warning. 

“She's not my queen and I'm not one of her subjects. She can't do anything to me.” At least not legally. He knew nobody would start a war over him, but Redania would definitely use it as an excuse to make problems. “And given how angry she was the last time I saw her,” he added. “I'd rather not walk calmly into the Lioness's den again.” 

The guards shifted uncomfortably, like they couldn't believe he was saying no and didn't know what to do about it. A muscle in Mousesack's jaw tightened as he fought some sort of internal battle with himself. 

“You have my personal assurances that no harm will come to you. The princess is asking for you,” he said finally, his voice quiet. He held up a hand to shush one of the guards when they hissed a warning at him. The guard felt silent but seemed shaken by the admission.

“But I thought her daughter-”

“Her _granddaughter_ is asking for you,” Mousesack clarified, cutting off Jaskier's question.

Jaskier felt a brief flush of vertigo as the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. The tug on his gut that he'd felt when entering the great hall in the palace in Cintra years ago pulled suddenly and uncomfortably, nearly knocking him off his feet. And then everything snapped back in place suddenly, leaving him leaning heavily against the door to the house.

“Are you alright?” Mousesack asked him.

“I'm fine. But I can't go anywhere right now.” But suddenly, he really wanted to. Like it was something he was meant to do. “My friend just went into labor and I need to be here. Can it wait?”

Mousesack's pinched expression said the answer was really no, but he relented for some reason. Pulling out a small object, he handed it to him. It was a small clay tile with a rune carved into it. 

“Snap this in half to let me know when you're ready to go. I'll be waiting. Please don't delay too long. The queen does not have an overabundance of patience, as of late.”

The door opened behind Jaskier and he stumbled back before regaining his balance. Brett came out behind him, putting a steadying hand on his back. He must have come in the kitchen door. 

“Everything okay out here?” Brett asked calmly.

“Yeah. They were just going,” Jaskier said as he tucked the tile into his pocket. He nodded at Mousesack before pushing Brett back inside and closing the door in the Druid's face. After he locked it, he turned around and was immediately pulled into a tight hug.

“It's good to see you even if you're getting in trouble already.” Brett patted him on the back when he finally let go. “How are you?”

“Right now? Really nervous and kind of confused.”

“Any particular reason Calanthe's court Druid is visiting you in Redania?” Brett asked him, his tone dry. 

“It's a long story,” Jaskier told him. “Come into the kitchen so I can tell you about it. I need to put something together for lunch and finish prepping dinner.”

“Alright.”

When they got back into the kitchen, Brett went over to stand by Essi who was smoothing a hand over her belly. She tilted her face up so he could lean down and kiss her. 

“You're just in time,” she said. “Milo should be here soon.”

“Really?” Brett blanched. “Right now?”

Essi rolled her eyes and glanced at Jaskier before looking back up at her stricken husband. “Why is it both of you are so panicky? I'm the one who's about to squeeze a watermelon through a buttonhole.” 

Jaskier laughed and went back to chopping vegetables so he could toss them in the pot. He tried to let his anxiety settle before he started talking about why the Druid was here. 

“I think you underestimate our ability to blow all of this out of proportion. We don't have any frame of reference, so this is kind of scary.” And it was, he realized suddenly. Men got off easy when it came to conceiving a child. “Take pity on us. We feel useless during all of this.”

“Well, you're not,” she said as she leaned against Brett's side. “I'm glad you're both here. Just. . . try to stay calm. I. . .” she sighed. “I need that because yeah. This is _really_ scary.” 

Brett leaned down and kissed her hair. “For you, anything. I'll do my best.”

“Me too,” Jaskier said as he stirred the pot one last time and started slicing a fresh loaf of bread that had been cooling on the sideboard. Along with some fresh cooked ham, aged cheddar, and homemade mustard, it made some excellent sandwiches. He also sliced up an apple and put it on Essi's plate. Shani nodded approvingly as she came in, so apparently he'd passed her healthy meal inspection. She'd been giving giving him tips on what foods were better for pregnancy and which ones to avoid. She settled at the table with them and accepted a plate. Brett made a pot of tea and sat beside Essi.

“So,” he said. “What was that all about at the door.”

“Yeah, who was it?” Essi asked.

Jaskier swallowed a mouthful of ham and cheese while he considered how much to tell them. He'd given Brett hell for not being honest with Essi about his job, but he wasn't sure how safe it was to share this. Which was probably the issue Brett had been having himself. Shit. This was harder than he thought. 

“I've been invited to perform in Cintra,” he said finally. That was neutral enough without getting into the details.

“I thought you said Queen Calanthe got pissed the last time you were there.” Essi frowned and bit into a slice of apple.

Jaskier shrugged. “She was mad at Geralt. Apparently, that doesn't include me anymore.” He wasn't actually sure it had included him back then either. Mousesack had encouraged him to stay, though that may have been because he'd felt Jaskier's magic and wanted to know more. But he wasn't sure.

“I don't like it,” Brett said. “She's restricted travel across the border and installed checkpoints at every major road. No one is allowed into the capitol without a pass. Why would they want you there?” 

“Her granddaughter asked for me.” 

“How does she even know about you? You haven't been there since she was born.” Brett scowled at his sandwich like it was withholding information. “There's got to be more to it than that.”

There was definitely more to it than that. Jaskier felt that peculiar clench in his gut again that tugged at him like something was trying to get his attention. But he didn't feel like he should talk about it. He wasn't even sure where to start. 

“Are you going to go?” Essi asked him hesitantly. “You just got here.” 

And he'd been missing for more than two years prior to that. Jaskier looked at her and he could tell that she already knew his answer. 

“I think I have to.”

“Calanthe has no power here in Redania,” Brett said, shaking his head. “She can't give you orders.”

“But I'm not a Redanian citizen,” Jaskier pointed out, even though that wasn't what he meant. “I'm from Lettenhove which is. . . _was_ in Kovir. They're neutral and they won't help anyone in the Wood or go against other countries.” Jaskier vaguely remembered something about a treaty in his history classes when he was growing up, but couldn't recall the details. Most of what he knew came from asking legal scholars at Oxenfurt University about border laws and travel permits. He'd wanted to know what he'd have to deal with from a legal aspect while traveling around the Continent. But laws were so inconsistent from country to country, the best advice he'd gotten was 'don't break any laws' even if he didn't know what most of them were.

“But even so, Dijkstra won't let her get away with anything,” Brett assured him.

Jaskier raised his brows. “Why would he care?”

“He took an interest in you, remember?” The other man was incredibly displeased by this, even if it was his fault that Jaskier had met him in the first place. A few years ago, Vaz had been injured by a messenger from Rinde and Dijkstra had been waiting for a report about what the messenger had known. He'd had Brett and Jaskier forcibly escorted to his bath house in Novigrad so they could discuss it. That's where he'd offered Jaskier a job. But he'd refused. He wasn't interested in being used.

“I still don't know why he'd bother doing anything because of me.” 

Brett glanced at Shani who looked back at him evenly. “Don't mind me,” she said. “I'm here for Milo. Politics don't concern me.” She went back to her sandwich, eating with exaggerated nonchalance, pretending that they weren't there. Brett just shook his head.

“I just got back from talking to Stellan in Novigrad. People have been asking about you, and at least half of them have ties to Dijkstra. They noticed that you'd gone missing and they were looking for you. Now that you're back, I'm sure world will eventually get back to him.”

“How worried should I be?” Jaskier asked him. He had an uneasy feeling that Dijkstra had started to ask around about him right after they first met. How much did he know? 

Brett shrugged. “Caution is best. I don't think you should go at all. There's no guarantee that the princess is the one who actually wants you there. And when you cross into Cintra, you may not be able to get out again.” 

Vaz came in the kitchen door as Brett was talking. “Why the hell would you be going to Cintra?” he asked as he waved away Jaskier who had gotten up to fix him something. He started making his own sandwich from the spread on the counter.

“I've been invited by the Queen,” Jaskier said. 

“Why?”

“Supposedly, the princess asked for him,” Brett told him. “Mousesack himself came to deliver the invitation. He's probably still lurking around here somewhere.”

“Hn,” Vaz grunted around a bite of ham. “Not enough trees.”

“Both of you stop,” Jaskier said, annoyed. “I agreed to go, but not right away. If they want me, they can wait. I'm busy.” 

“You really shouldn't go alone,” Brett said as Essi took his hand. “I'd go with you, but I'm not going anywhere for a long while.”

“What about you?” Jaskier asked as he turned to Vaz. He'd been considering asking him to come along if he wasn't busy. Aside from providing protection, he wanted to talk to him more.

“He can't. The Queen will have him executed on sight,” Brett said.

“What? Why?” Jaskier raised a brow as Vaz waved it away with a gesture that seemed a little too nonchalant. 

“It's an old, stupid thing,” he said.

“The crown doesn't consider desertion stupid,” Brett said. “Even if it was justified.”

“Conscription is stupid. Nobody asked me if I wanted to fight her father's petty wars. Hochebuz was the end of it for me.”

Jaskier wracked his brain for info on what he was talking about. “ _The_ Battle of Hochebuz? The one where Calanthe won her first victory?”

“Victories are calculated by the winners,” Vaz sneered. “Over three thousand Cintrans died. All for money, nothing more. But the other side was decimated. Nazair didn't stand a chance against Nilfgaard after that.”

“How old were you?” Jaskier asked, knowing he was probably going to hate the answer. The battle was nearly thirty years ago.

“Fourteen. Got dragged out of my father's stables the year before and forced into the infantry. But all that shit's over now. Haven't been back since then. But I can ask what Becker is doing and see if he can go. Toby won't set foot below the Yaruga.”

“No. Absolutely not. Becker's a dick and he'll probably get us arrested by picking a fight,” Jaskier said as he got up and started putting things away. “Seriously. I thought he'd mellow out by now.”

“Us too,” Brett said tapping his fingers on the table. “Why isn't Geralt with you, anyway? If anyone's going to go with you, it should be him.”

Before Jaskier could think of a reply that wouldn't hurt, Essi started panting and clenched the edge of the table. “Oh, wow. This is a big one,” she groaned. 

“That's the third one since we sat down to eat,” Shani said as she went over to check on her. “Breathe.” 

Essi panted her way through the contraction, slowly blowing out a breath as she tried to stay relaxed. “Yeah,” she said, as a light sweat broke out on her forehead. “I think Milo is on the way, guys.” 

Okay then, Jaskier thought as all details of his impending trip flew out of the window. It was baby time.


	12. A New Life and Old Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part before the break contains a mostly non-graphic description of labor, childbirth, and breastfeeding. Feel free to skip it and start reading after the ******* if you think it will make you uncomfortable or you're not interested. You won't miss any major story points.

After the initial rush of adrenaline from Essi going fully into labor, it calmed down so much it was almost a little boring. Vaz went to the clinic to get Shani's assistant while Shani and Brett moved Essi to the master bedroom. Jaskier went ahead of them to change the linens and put fresh, sterilized sheets on the bed. They'd been laying in supplies for a few weeks now, getting ready for the baby. Along with sheets and towels, there was the basin Vaz had brought in the other day, and a large tub that had been set up in the corner.

Once the linens were clean and Essi was settled on the bed, Jaskier lit the candles made with lavender, mint, and clary sage before going back into the kitchen to boil water so he could fill the bath. Shani's assistant, Jasline, arrived with her bag and Jaskier took her back to the bedroom while Vaz stayed in the kitchen where he kept an eye on the soup while making snacks to keep himself busy and out of the way. 

The rest of them spent the next few hours keeping Essi comfortable while she reclined in the tub with Brett and Shani monitored the baby. The warm candles filled the room with a calming scent. Jaskier sat in a chair out of the way and played his lute. He strummed soft, calming melodies that had had everyone relaxing as Essi worked her way through painful contractions that left her dazed and tired. Shani bathed Essi's forehead with cool cloths and fed her juice that Vaz had picked up at the market. 

And they sat and waited. 

This was the boring part and Jaskier couldn't imagine going through it himself. It wasn't as if they could chat to pass the time. Essi was up for conversation some of the time, but during others, she had to concentrate or she was just too tired. According to Shani, It wasn't the longest labor she'd dealt with, but it still took some time. 

When Essi was finally ready, they moved her back to the bed. Jaskier kept playing, trying to keep everyone relaxed as the real work began. It sounded painful as she huffed her way through bursts of pain and tried to push.

But then the baby was crying and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Jaskier was pretty sure Brett was crying too as he held up a warm blanket to accept the squalling infant. The cord was cut and Jasline guided Brett over to the basin so they could give Milo his first bath. Once he was clean, Brett brought him back over and parted Essi's shift to lay him on her bare chest. Her hair was bedraggled and limp with sweat, but she was beaming tiredly as she stroked Milo's cheek. The baby calmed and started breastfeeding on his own. 

Essi closed her eyes with a sigh and Shani nodded to Jasline who came down to kneel on the bed with her. Brett settled at Essi's side near the pillows, gently brushing her damp hair away from her face as he laid his other hand on Milo's back. Jaskier had never seen anything so beautiful. He wished cameras worked because this was an image that should be saved.

But Essi had gotten really quiet. 

“What's wrong?” Jaskier asked quietly, not daring to stop playing. There was a tension in Shani's shoulders that he didn't like and he tried to keep the music calm and soft in the background.

“There's a lot of blood,” she murmured. “I need her to push so I can deliver the placenta, but she's passed out. Jasline,” she said quietly.

Jasline nodded and retrieved an item from her bag. “Steady her and keep an eye on the baby,” she told Brett. “I'm going to bring her around.” She snapped a small capsule under Essi's nose and she snapped awake, sputtering.

“Wha-. . .” She turned to Brett who was gently kissing her forehead. 

“Steady, Love,” he murmured. 

“Tired.”

“I know,” he said. “You're almost done.”

“I need you to push, Essi,” Shani said from where she crouched between her knees. “We're almost there.” 

“'Kay.” Essi blew out a breath and grimaced. “Hmmmn.” She relaxed again, letting out a soft sigh. 

“She's hemorrhaging,” Jasline said, her voice a whisper as both women tended to Essi who had gone completely silent. She was so pale. 

“At least the afterbirth appears intact,” Shani said, her voice barely audible. “But we may need to cauterize if it doesn't stop.”

Jaskier kept playing, trying to keep himself calm. They hadn't asked him to stop and getting worked up wouldn't help anyone. He reached out with his magic, trying to feel what was going on. The glittering spark of Milo's new life shone brightly. He could feel Shani, Jasmine, and Brett though not as strongly. Vaz was a calm, steady presence in the other room. But Essi almost seemed. . . dim. Like she was fading and he felt a sharp spike of panic. He couldn't replace what she'd lost, but maybe he could help keep her from slipping away any farther. He had to. He couldn't lose her. 

He started singing quietly about new life and soft awakenings, trying to be subtle about it. With his luck, he'd send her into shock if he pushed too hard. His abdomen clenched painfully, and he gasped, but kept his fingers on the strings while trying to push through it. Essi should be marveling in her new baby's life, not laying limply in bed as her own faded away.

Jaskier lost track of what was going on as he wove the music tighter, trying to stop the unnatural flow that drained Essi's life away. He gave her everything he dared to give and barely felt the lute under his fingers as he slumped in the chair and let his eyes slipped closed. He was tired. And he hurt in places he shouldn't hurt. Someone was calling his name and the instrument was pulled away from him. He didn't have the strength to stop them. Then his head lolled back against the wall and he slept.

*******

When Jaskier woke slowly, there was a blanket draped over him and his feet were propped up on a small chest. Pillows cushioned his head and neck, and his lute had been set safely aside. Essi lay propped up in bed with the baby sleeping curled up on her chest. She smiled at him warmly even though there were dark circles under her eyes.

“Hey,” he whispered. 

“Hey,” she said. 

Jaskier moved to sit up and felt incredibly sore. He paused, wincing as he took stock of his body. “How are you feeling?” he asked carefully as he found himself feeling exhausted and hungry. 

“Better.” She eyed him carefully. “Thanks to you.”

He looked at her and didn't bother to hide it.

“You were bleeding a lot.”

“You could have fucking hurt yourself trying to heal me. Shani said she had it under control.” She softened her voice as Milo started fussing. “Oh, sorry, sorry, little one.” She hummed to him softly until he settled again. “This is going to be interesting. I don't actually want his first word to be profane even if it would be hilarious.”

Jaskier chuckled and smiled softly, leaning forward a bit to rest his forearms on his knees. He back ached from sleeping in the chair. Shani may have thought she had it under control, but that's not what it had felt like to Jaskier. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd done, but at least it worked. 

“He's beautiful,” he said. “I'm really proud of you.”

Essi's eyes watered as she snuggled down father in the bed. “Go away if you're going to do that. I just got myself calmed down a little while ago.” She bit her lip. “We couldn't wake you up,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “We were thinking about redecorating the spare room, but I don't want to have to figure out what colors go well with my comatose best friend.” 

“Sorry. But it's fine. And it's been what, an hour?”

“You've been asleep for two days, you dick. Couldn't move you from the chair because you started swinging every time. Nearly gave Vaz a black eye. Now seriously, go away. I need a nap. And send Brett in here,” she added as he levered himself to his feet and headed towards the door. He wasn't upset that he was being kicked out. He was starving and he needed to piss. 

As he passed the parlor, Brett looked up from the letter he was writing at the desk against the wall. “Finally. Vaz was thinking about coming in there and kissing you to see if it would wake you up.”

“Thank the gods that wasn't necessary,” Vaz called from the kitchen.

“Fu-erm.” He trailed off in an awkward garble that made Brett look at him.

“You're not having a stroke, are you?”

“No,” Jaskier grumped as he stretched his sore muscles and headed for the bathroom. “Just trying not to swear.” Yeah, this _was_ going to be interesting. He was going to have to tamp down on the profanity. “Essi wants you,” he said as he headed to the bathroom.

After dealing with one of his problems, thanks to the plumbing system that had been set up by the engineers at Oxenfurt, Jaskier headed to the kitchen. There were certain advantages to living in a city with some of the most clever minds in the Continent. He flipped off Vaz where he sat at the kitchen table making kissy faces at him. The other man broke out into a grin.

“So. What the hell was that?” he asked sweetly, hit tone at odds with the edge underneath the words. 

“Magic,” Jaskier said as he sliced a piece of bread off the loaf on the sideboard and started eating it plain. He really was starving. 

“Does it do that to you every time? You looked kinda dead there for a while.” 

“Only when I'm trying to heal someone else,” Jaskier said as he finished the first piece of bread and sliced another before slathering it with butter from the crock sitting next to it. Now that he'd satiated the worst of it, he was slowing down and considering what to eat next. “What time is it?”

“Early afternoon. Two days later,” Vaz drawled as he went back to carving the chunk of wood that sat on the table in front of him. He spent a lot of his down time on the road whittling whatever sticks or pieces of wood he could get his hands on. 

“Yes, yes. Essi already told me how much time has passed.” 

“Worrying about you is a hobby I never thought I'd take up. I don't particularly like it.” 

“Nobody does based on how much everyone bitches about it,” Jaskier said as he pulled out a jar of strawberry jam and the peanut butter he'd made a couple days ago. He was craving something comforting as he made himself a sandwich. And despite being unconscious for a couple days, he was tired. 

“Are you really going to go to Cintra?”

Jaskier paused with the peanut butter jar in his hand. “Yes.” 

“Cintra isn't a favorable place for mages,” Vaz said as he cut off another sliver of wood. 

“Good thing I'm not a mage, then. And honestly, I'm pretty sure Mousesack already knows. The Queen seems to put up with him well enough.” 

“Because he came as a package deal with her second husband. I'm pretty sure she couldn't say no.” 

“Have you ever met her?” Jaskier asked as he spread strawberries over a thick piece of bread and slapped it onto the slice already slathered in peanut butter. He wished forlornly for a cold glass of milk but ended up settling for tepid water instead. It was just as well. He was probably dehydrated anyway. 

Vaz set the knife down and pushed the wood a few inches away. “Once. I got a commendation from her.” He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back in the chair. “She was barely older than me at the time.” 

Jaskier came over and sat across from him, nudging a stray wood chip out of the way. “What was it for?” He wasn't interested in prying if it was painful, but he was curious.

Vaz huffed, the sound short and bitter. “For murdering someone by accident.” He shrugged. “We were part of the advanced guard checking a village for spies and we were searching all the houses. A wardrobe opened and a man came out swinging a knife. I tripped trying to get out of the way and he ended up falling onto my sword.” His tone was casual like he was discussing the weather. “When my unit captain found me, I was covered in blood with a corpse at my feet. The moron assumed I'd gotten the upper hand on an assassin and put in a recommendation.” 

“When did you end up leaving?”

Brett came in and and started making a pot of tea, listening quietly but not speaking. 

“I stuck around for a couple of weeks,” Vaz continued. “I was riding the wave of free drinks people kept giving for telling the story.” His lips twisted in a wry smile that just barely managed not to be a grimace. “I kept embellishing until word got around that I'd taken out an entire troop by myself.” He chuckled, a bitter sound. “I almost started to believe my own bullshit. Then we got to Hochebuz. Nazair was trying to plunder the city and they weren't being gentle about it.”

Brett splashed a hefty dose of Dwarven Spirits into a mug and poured tea into it before setting it in front of Vaz and squeezing his shoulder. Vaz took the mug and blew on the hot liquid before sipping it carefully. 

“We killed every single one of them and this time I was murdering people on purpose. Most of my unit died, including my captain. And when it was over, our side was cheering while I was barfing up my guts in a back alley.” His expression sobered. “I left that night.”

“Are you sure they know you deserted?” Jaskier asked. “They could have assumed you died with your unit.”

“Oh, they know I left.” Vaz's smile was bitter and full of resentment. “I went home and my dad called the guards on me. Said he couldn't live with a worthless son who _refused to fight for King and Country_.” His voice rose with an exaggerated accent and he saluted the air with his mug. “Fucking prick,” he muttered before taking another drink.

“Wow. Does anybody have a family that doesn't suck?” Jaskier picked at the last bit of crust on his plate. His own family was a mess. Essi's mom had been a drunk and her dad had walked out when she was ten. At least Vaz's brother was friendly. Alik lived on a farm south of Oxenfurt. Jaskier had met him once when he came to visit his daughter Natalie at the University.

Brett laughed. “Well, _my_ dad's not a dick.”

“Your dad's dead,” Vaz said. 

“But while he was still around, he was a pretty good guy.” 

“Which makes you extremely lucky. Wish I could have met him.”

“Oh, he would have hated you,” Brett laughed. “Hell, I used to hate you.”

Vaz laughed with him. “That's because you were a stuck up ass when we first met. It took forever for you to loosen up enough to be fun.” He looked at the other man with a fond smile. “And now you're a dad yourself. How the hell did that happen?”

“Well,” Brett said, taking on the bright tone of an enthusiastic lecturer. “When a man and a woman love each other very much. . .”

“Shut up,” Vaz laughed again. “What am I going to do without you? Becker gets on my nerves and Toby is boring.”

Jaskier watched them with a small smile on his face. “Has Stellan hired anyone else yet?”

Vaz shrugged. We've been looking but haven't found anyone that clicks yet. You can't exactly put out a notice for our kind of work.”

Jaskier laughed at the idea of a notice listing an opening for a secret agent masquerading as a caravan guard. “What about Ebren?”

“Nah,” Brett said. “He does city work and he hates traveling.”

“Okay, Dad,” Essi said as she came into the room. “Time for Mom to have a few minutes.” 

Brett took the baby from her easily, cradling him in the crook of his arm. Milo made a few soft sounds before settling again. 

“I thought you were napping.”

“Can't sleep,” she said. “And I'm hungry.”

“How have you been been so far?” Jaskier asked her as Essi came over the lean down and kiss his temple. All was forgiven.

“Not too bad. But sleep is for the weak, right?” She said as she sat carefully in the chair beside him. “Ooo. Was that peanut butter and jelly?”

“I wanted some comfort food,” he said as he got up and went to make another sandwich.

“I'm really going to miss having you as a live-in cook,” Essi said, suddenly sounding sad.

“Well,” he said. “Natalie has been taking a lot of notes, and she'll be here all summer.” He'd talked to her about it and he'd been working with her in the kitchen. She came over most afternoons after her classes were finished. She'd be a huge help around the house while Essi was recovering and caring for Milo

“Which I appreciate,” she told him. “But I'm going to miss you.”

“This time, I'm writing letters.” Jaskier turned for a moment to look at her. “I promise I'm not going to disappear without a trace.”

“Good. Because I'd hunt you down and kick your a- . . .ah, rear? Behind? Neither one of those is as satisfying as ass.” Essi huffed a sigh. “I never realized how much I actually swear until I tried to stop.”

“I really hope I'm here for the first time Milo swears because you did,” Jaskier laughed as he turned back and finished making the sandwich. “And remember,” he said as he sat it down in front of her. “It's not forever. I'm going to go play and then I'm coming back.” He ignored the twinge in his gut that made him feel like he was lying. 

“I'll hold you to that,” she said as she took a bite and moaned quietly in appreciation.

Jaskier really hoped he'd be able to keep his promise.


	13. Farewells and Destinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself cry writing this chapter. When I was writing this part of the story, I was going through a lot of things.

Jaskier was having trouble sleeping over the next few days and it wasn't because of the new baby or sharing a bed with Vaz. He lay awake listening the other people in the house breathe and wondered what was keeping him up. The few bits of sleep he managed to get were full of strange anxiety-ridden dreams that he didn't remember when he woke, but they left him feeling uneasy, like he was missing something. 

“You look like you've been getting less sleep than me,” Essi said from the couch where she was feeding Milo. She tossed a towel over her shoulder before shifting him in her arms to burp him. 

“Hn. Not sure why though.” Jaskier was in the rocking chair with the rebec, idly plucking the strings. Using a bow on a stringed instrument was far different than strumming it, and after producing an awful squeal that made the baby fuss, he'd set it aside and started strumming it instead. 

“You know that's not your lute, right?” Essi asked as she took the baby into the other room to change his diaper.

“Yes,” Jaskier called after her as he set the small instrument aside. “I'm not _that_ tired,” he muttered to the empty room.

“Good,” she said as she came back in. “Then you can take him for a minute while I nip to the bathroom.” She came over and gently handed him the baby. 

Jaskier cradled him the way that he'd been shown as she left the room again. Milo looked up at him with huge, wondering eyes that weren't quite tracking yet. “I'm going to leave before you get to know me,” he murmured as he started rocking slowly. He suddenly remembered one of the dreams he'd had about the ashen haired girl. She'd been a crying infant and he'd sang to her to calm her down. Jaskier looked at Milo and started singing the song his mother had taught him when he was young. The baby yawned, his tiny fingers curling as he settled in Jaskier's arms and closed his eyes. 

Jaskier was going to miss so much. He'd never really thought about it before while he'd been traveling. He'd been so wrapped up in Geralt and performing that he'd never considered what he'd be leaving behind by being on the road so often. The children he may have fathered in Brokilon Forest were no longer infants. He'd missed that part of their lives entirely. But then again, it was doubtful he'd ever see them at all. And then there was the Cintran princess. He still wasn't sure why she might have asked for him, but he felt that odd tug every time he thought about her.

As Jaskier finished the song, he saw Essi watching him from the doorway. 

“I have to go,” he told her quietly.

“I know.”

Jaskier frowned. “I thought I'd have to convince you.”

Essi pulled the desk chair over to sit next to him and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She watched him fondly for a few moments before speaking. “I know it the same way the I knew you had to leave Lettenhove. There's no stopping you once you've made up your mind about something. But this is different somehow. I'm not sure why.”

“I don't either,” he said, his voice soft and unsure. “Sometimes I have no idea why I need to do something, but I'm so certain about it that I can't do anything else.” He was reminded of what Borch had said to him as they climbed up the mountain. He'd asked him if he'd ever been certain of anything.

“Is it magic?” Essi asked.

“I don't know. I don't think so. At least it's not like a spell or anything. I'm pretty sure I'd be able to feel that.” 

“When are you going to leave?”

Jaskier looked out the window. It was mid-afternoon now. “Tomorrow.” It hurt to say it, but if he waited, he might never leave, or sleep, again. “But for now, I'm staying right here.” He continued rocking gently with the warm weight of Essi's son sleeping in his arms. 

Essi retreated to the sofa and retrieved her lute from the stand. She spent a few minutes checking the tune as she adjusted the instrument over her belly, which was smaller now, but still a bit larger than normal. 

Then she started singing 'The Home of the Heart.” 

Jaskier sighed and listened quietly as the words tugged lightly on his heartstrings, reminding him of the that night back in Lettenhove after he'd returned from the Wood the first time. He'd tried to go on his own and it had been a disaster that nearly got him eaten by wild dogs. That was when he'd met Geralt for the first time. The Witcher had rescued him and taken him back to the city. Essi had sang this song for Jaskier at the Kingfisher in Lettenhove before she'd equipped him for the trip and booked him passage with a caravan. Like a line of dominoes, everything came back to that night at the bar when she'd given him her blessing to leave and find his place while promising that there would always be a home for him to come back to. 

A tear slipped down Jaskier's cheek. 

No matter what happened, he couldn't let himself run away from this again. When it got difficult and he wasn't sure what to do, he needed to come back here.

“I love you,” she said as the last chord faded.

“I love you, too.” Jaskier sniffed and looked down at Milo who shifted in his arms and whimpered softly. Jaskier hummed and continued rocking until he quieted again. He and Essi sat quietly together for a while until the baby got hungry again. Jaskier handed him over and smiled at her before heading out to the kitchen. He wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow, but there was something he needed to do today. Brett was just coming inside with Vaz as Jaskier got a drink of water. 

“I'll be back in a little bit,” he said before heading outside, not waiting for them to reply or ask him any questions. 

Jaskier had taken stock of his supplies the other day, but he didn't really need anything in particular. Lara had given him almost everything he needed for traveling before he'd left Ard Carraigh, and he was pretty sure Essi would fill up his traveling pantry before he left in the morning. He'd pick up some new dried herbs in the market, but there was one other thing he wanted to do. 

*******

By the time Jaskier got back two hours later, he had a bag of spices and a new stew pot made of an alloy that weighed less than his current one. Lan Exeter up in Kovir was probably the only other place on the Continent that could compete with metal goods made in Mahakam. But it was the slip of parchment in his pocket that really mattered. 

“Got everything you need?” Brett asked him when Jaskier came back into the kitchen. He was peeling vegetables with Natalie who was perched on a stood at the counter. 

Jaskier went over to give her a hug before asking to give them a few minutes. She nodded quietly and hugged him back tightly before heading into the parlor where Vaz was playing cards with Essi. Jaskier pulled out the parchment and gave it to Brett. The other man unfolded it and looked at the seal. His lip curled in a sneer. 

“No.”

“It's already done,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “You can do what you want with it or you can let it sit there forever. But I want to leave knowing it's there if you need it.”

Brett's lips thinned as he looked at him. “You're coming back.”

“Of course I'm coming back,” Jaskier said, baffled. 

Brett waved the bank slip at him. It was from the Oxenfurt branch of Vivaldi's bank and it listed a hefty sum that had been deposited in his and Essi's names. “So this isn't some misplaced attempt to mollify us because you're leaving again? Like a bunch of money would be better than having you here?”

“No.” Jaskier had known one or both of them would be stubborn about this, but he hadn't expected this much anger. “I was thinking about Milo.”

“So you think I can't take care of my family?”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” 

“Brett. Stop.” Essi came in from the other room and put a hand on his arm. She looked at the bank slip when he thrust it in her direction. She studied it for a moment before looking up at Jaskier. She opened her mouth and then closed it again without saying anything. It was hard to tell what she was thinking based on her expression alone.

“You once bought me everything I needed to go into the Wood safely and booked me a place in a caravan. Now I'm giving you everything you need to take care of yourselves no matter what happens in your lives. I won't take it back. It's yours to do with as you wish.” He swallowed as his eyes started to sting and his vision got blurry. “I've lived with nothing before. I'll be damned if the people I love ever have to go through that.”

“Shit,” Brett muttered as he turned to stare out the window. Essi came around and wrapped her arms around Jaskier's waist. 

“Please,” he said, his voice wavering as he held her tightly. “I wouldn't leave if I didn't think I had to.”

“I know. Thank you.” Her words were muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Just promise that you'll come back.”

“I promise.” He was relieved that he didn't feel anything in his gut or otherwise as he vowed to return. 

********

The next morning, Jaskier kissed Milo goodbye and hugged everyone before shouldering his pack and lute and heading out. Brett and Vaz had tried to convince him to take someone with him, but he'd waved it away and told them he was fine. He wasn't going to drag anyone else into this. Touching the tile Mousesack had given him, he traced the rune carved into it but didn't snap it just yet. He was going to head out of the city before he did that. He still wasn't sure what it would do and he wanted to be away from people. If they had wanted to hurt him, they probably would have done so already. He was pretty sure it wasn't harmful, but it couldn't hurt to be careful. 

Jaskier walked southward through the surrounding fields and enjoyed the feel of the early summer sun on his face. He still needed to work on his stamina which was severely reduced due to his sedentary time in Ard Carraigh. It was going to take a while to get his body back to where it was before. He had to take breaks frequently as he got winded and he was probably going to be exhausted by the end of the day.

When he felt like he was far enough away from the city, Jaskier moved away from the road into the trees and set down his pack next to a rock. Taking out the tile, he studied it for a moment, but only saw baked brown clay with a blue painted rune that had been carved into the surface. He snapped it in half and felt a small spark of magic burst out of the pieces and dart away. He waited, his heart fluttering in anticipation. 

Nothing happened.

Jaskier blinked and sucked in a lungful of air when he realized he'd been holding his breath. He'd done what he'd been told and aside from the released bit of Chaos, nothing happened. He looked around and saw the trees stretching off in all directions. There was no one around. Shit. 

After waiting for several minutes, he settled on the rock and took out his lute, playing stray melodies to pass the time. Maybe there was a delay. Something would happen eventually. 

When the sun reached its peak, he had lunch and took a drink from his water skin. How long should he wait? Jaskier had a sudden horrible thought that they might have shown up back at Essi's house. But that didn't make sense. If they'd been able to find him in the city after being out of the magic for two years, they'd be able to find him here. Taking out his notebook, he started writing down ideas and lyrics for future songs. Anything to keep his mind off of his growing anxiety that he'd done something wrong. 

As twilight fell and it began to get dark, he started wondering if he should head back to the city. He felt a bit foolish that he'd waited out here all this time. But instead of packing up his things, he gathered fallen branches for a fire. After sparking the tinder and feeding it until it grew, he sat staring into the flames, playing his lute and listening to the evening insects come to life. At least it was peaceful out here. As much as he adored Essi, it had begun to feel a bit crowded at her house. Slumping against his pack where it was propped against a rock, he set his lute aside and stretched out in front of the fire. 

Jaskier drifted in and out of a half sleep for a while until a surge of disorientation made him flail and reach out to grab onto something. Rolling onto his side, he tried to calm his roiling stomach so he wouldn't vomit. He stared dumbly at the polished stone beneath his fingers. 

“What the fuck?” Gingerly rolling onto his back, he looked up to see Queen Calanthe staring down at him, a dubious expression on her face as she stood wearing a shining golden gown. Her hair was pinned up under the crown that sat on her head. Jaskier waved at her as he started to sit up. “How's it going?”

Her eyes narrowed and six pikemen step forward to surround him, their weapons snapping down to point at his throat in a deadly ring of spikes. Mousesack stood off to one side, a wince pinching his features.

“Do you know why you're here?” the Queen asked him.

“Mousesack wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details,” Jaskier said reasonably, feeling his muscles start to quiver where he held himself up at an awkward angle. He wasn't sitting up all the way and he had no room to get up or lay back down with the pikemen threatening him. With the stern expressions on their faces, he didn't dare move at all. Something jabbed him in the shoulder and he sucked in a breath as one of the spear points kissed his skin.

“You will address her as Your Majesty,” a stern voice said behind him.

Jaskier licked his lips and tried again, knowing that she could order them to skewer him at any moment if she chose. “Forgive me, your Majesty. I'm a bit disoriented at the moment. I was told you'd like me to play for you.” With the way Mousesack's guards had hissed when he mentioned her granddaughter, Jaskier didn't dare mention her himself. He had to brace his hand against the floor to keep himself upright. 

“Stand,” she said before walking away. 

The pikemen pulled their weapons back and they stood at attention with the the butts of their weapons resting on the floor, looking relaxed like they hadn't just threatened to kill him. Jaskier stood up and found himself in a small receiving hall that didn't have any furniture besides a few candelabras that cast shadows over the floor. At the head of the room, a large blue banner hung against the wall depicting the royal coat of arms with three golden lions. 

A member of the household staff came forward and picked up Jaskier's pack and lute before he could stop them. The man stepped nimbly between the pikemen and left the room, taking Jaskier's things with him. Jaskier was stuck here for the time being since he definitely wasn't leaving without his lute. The pikemen advanced on him slowly and he backed up a step. 

“Quickly, Bard,” Calanthe called, her tone bored. “I don't have all night.”

Jaskier moved over to the doorway where the queen waited. As they walked out into the long hallway beyond, the two armed guards stationed there moved in and kept pace behind them. Mousesack followed closely at their heels. Jaskier adjusted his steps to stay respectfully behind her until she sighed. 

“For pity's sake, get up here where I can see you,” she said. 

He jogged up a couple paces to walk at Calanthe's side, biting his tongue to keep from snapping at her. Glancing at her face, Jaskier realized for the first time since he'd arrived, that there were dark circles under her eyes that weren't quite hidden behind her makeup. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who was having trouble sleeping. 

“So tell me, your Majesty,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I came to the realization years ago that there are things in this world that are necessary even if I don't like them.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said hesitantly, unsure of what she meant.

“Do you believe in Destiny?” she asked. 

Jaskier stopped in his tracks as a small burst of adrenaline shot through him. One of the guards shoved him forward. “Alright, alright. No shoving,” he said before he could stop himself. “What brought this on?' he asked her as he caught up. 

The guard growled. “You'll-”

“Yes, yes, proper respect and all that.” Jaskier turned and walked backward to address the men following them. One of them put a hand on his sword. “Oh, stop. If I actually offend her she's perfectly capable of stabbing me herself. Stop interrupting.” Turning back around, he ignored both of them. The corner of Calanthe's mouth quirked with amusement before she quickly hid it. 

“Indeed, I could slide a knife between your ribs before you could take your next breath. But as it so happens, I am in need of your. . . talents. Your death would be inconvenient.”

“Oh, I bet you could do it without killing me. It would just hurt a lot. And I should probably stop giving you ideas.” Gods, he was babbling already. Bravado and nerves went hand in hand for him sometimes. But so did sarcasm and stupidity. 

To his surprise, Calanthe actually laughed. It was a tired sound but it held enough amusement that he figured he could get a way with being flippant for now. Within reason. Her patience undoubtedly had a limit. But before he could ask her what she meant by talent, a high, shrieking scream cut through the air. The very walls seemed to quiver and Jaskier had to pause to catch his breath. Feeling compelled, he started off down the corridor, but one of the guards stationed ahead drew his sword and stopped him. Jaskier stared him down as the tug in his middle pulled painfully tight. 

“Get out of my way,” Jaskier bit out, mildly surprised at the snarl pulling at own his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Calanthe nod at the guard who reluctantly stepped back. But he didn't sheath his sword. Jaskier ignored him and moved down the hallway at a brisk pace. He was nearing the destination he'd never known he was heading toward, and no one was going to get in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cried reading this again before I posted it. There a lot of emotion baked in there.
> 
> But I'm in a much better place now and feeling so much better. This year is turning out to be just as crazy, but there's good stuff happening in my life.


	14. Of Lion Cubs and Buttercups

Jaskier knew exactly where he was going even though he'd never been in this part of the palace while awake before. He'd been here in a dream. But it couldn't have been real. Could it? Before he could follow that thought any further, he arrived at a door that led to a set of familiar rooms. It was the same antechamber and the same bedroom. The same huge canopied bed. 

And the same little girl. 

Her head snapped up as he entered and when she saw him, her expression crumpled. “Where have you _beeeeen_?” she wailed as tears streamed down her face. 

Jaskier went over and sat on the edge of the bed, holding his arms out to her. She immediately crawled into his lap like she'd try to burrow inside his doublet and stay there. He held her and felt a tight pulse of magic burst outward from where they sat together. He closed his eyes and gasped before resting his cheek on her hair as he tried to ground himself in the sudden rush of power. He sighed and sang softly, mostly humming, the words barely audible. It seemed to calm the both of them and the girl curled up against him as her breathing evened out and she slowly stopped trembling. The vibrating tension in the atmosphere eased and it seemed like the castle was able to take a breath again after waiting in anticipation for. . .something.

“You will want for nothing,” Calanthe said from the doorway, her voice oddly rough. 

Jaskier looked over to see her watching him carefully, he eyes shining with unshed tears. Her husband, Eist, stood at her shoulder, not touching, but close enough to comfort with his proximity. Mousesack was staring at Jaskier from the hallway with wide eyes.

“I don't know what you mean,” Jaskier said, shifting his hold, but not ready to set the princess down just yet. He realized suddenly that he didn't even know her name.

“It's late,” Eist said, finally resting a gentle hand on the queen's shoulder. “We'll talk about it in the morning. For now, rooms have been prepared for you down the hall.”

Jaskier looked down at where the princess's fingers were curled tightly in the fabric of his doublet. She seemed to be asleep now, but he wasn't sure how to loosen her hold. “I'm not quite sure. . .”

“I will stay,” Mousesack said from the hallway. “She'll relax in a bit and then you can safely put her to bed.” He sounded like he was speaking from experience.

Eist's grip on the Queen's shoulder tightened slightly when she opened her mouth and she drew herself up. “We bid you goodnight, Bard. Speak with Mousesack or my steward should you require anything.” With obvious reluctance, she left the room. Eist gave Jaskier and odd look before following his wife. Mousesack entered the room with one of the guards, who stationed himself just inside the closed door. 

Jaskier supposed he'd have to get used to the chaperons. He doubted he'd be allowed anywhere in the royal apartments alone. Mousesack settled next to the hearth and rested his hands lightly on the arms of the chair, his posture wary. Jaskier ignored him for the moment to look around the room. Every surface was covered in vases, urns, glasses, and chalices along with some scattered pieces of pottery that had clearly been taken from the kitchens. All of them were stuffed full of buttercups, some fresh and others wilting with curled, browning petals. Mousesack followed his gaze. 

“She's been calling for you,” he said quietly. “We . . .“ He sighed. “We didn't know what she wanted at first.”

Jaskier meant Buttercup in an old northern dialect. But he'd never met her. He supposed that someone might have mentioned him, but . . . it couldn't be. She shouldn't know his name. 

“I don't understand,” he said finally.

“Destiny has brought you back to this place,” Mousesack said. “I thought I'd felt something, that night at the betrothal.” He shook his head. “But there was too much wild magic in the air to be certain.”

“It felt like I was drowning in it,” Jaskier murmured, remembering the night that Pavetta had screamed and nearly brought the walls down around them. His breath had been stolen away then too. The girl's cry was a weak shadow of her mother's, but it appeared that she'd inherited her magic.

“I wanted to speak with you that night after you woke, but I know better than to argue with Geralt.” The other man regarded him carefully. “Do you think he'll follow you here? I don't think he'll be safe from the Queen's wrath, should she see him again. It's still too soon.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I doubt it. We don't travel together anymore.”

“Pity. His sour disposition seemed a bit sweeter that night.” He didn't elaborate. 

Jaskier eased the princess onto the bed and tucked her in under the covers. She settled easily and he was able to stand. “Now what?” he asked.

“I'll take you to your rooms. They're just down the hall.”

Jaskier wasn't sure why he was being given quarters so close to the royal apartments, but he didn't say anything. He was tired, and every step seemed to be harder to take, like his body was giving out on him now that he'd found where he was supposed to be. By the time Mousesack opened the door to a well appointed set of rooms, he was sagging against the wall. 

“Are you alright?”

“Just. . . tired.” Jaskier sighed. So many people had been asking him that lately. He moved forward through a decent sized sitting room into a bedroom that had a large wardrobe and a soft looking bed. But before he could let himself sink into it, he had to ask. “Will I be able to leave?”

“Why would you want to?”

Jaskier turned to him. He could see the second guard standing outside the door to the hallway. “If I decide to go, will I be allowed to the leave the palace?”

“You are not a prisoner here,” Mousesack said, his brow furrowed. “You will be compensated handsomely for your time and be given a place at court. It is an honor not afforded to many.

“I'm not concerned with honor. I'm worried about my freedom.”

“If the Queen had ordered you be brought here, I would not have bothered knocking on the door to to request your presence,” the other man said, his tone dry. “If you truly wish to leave, no one will stop you. I can take you back to Oxenfurt if you'd like.” His look turned considering. “But you don't want to leave.”

“No. I don't” There was no use denying it, really. Just the thought of leaving made Jaskier's stomach twist. “But. . .” He swallowed hard as thoughts of his childhood came bubbling up. Privilege came with strings. “I have been at the mercy of others before who were. . . somewhat less than hospitable. I have no desire to be in that position again.”

Mousesack's expression softened. He was suddenly no longer the stern, worldly Druid who spoke in portents and cryptic declarations. He was an empathetic man who understood the value of free will. 

“No harm will come to you here,” he said softly.

“Even if I piss her off?” He shrugged when the other man's brows rose. “It's bound to happen eventually.” 

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Mousesack said, suddenly looking weary. “But you have brought peace to this house in a time when it has been difficult to come by. Right now, there is very little she wouldn't give you should you ask.” 

Jaskier yawned. “Right now, all I want is sleep.”

“Then I bid you goodnight. My rooms are down the hall to the left. Just look for the runes along the door frame. I have a feeling you'll see them when most others don't notice,” he said before heading to the outer door and closing it behind him. 

Jaskier stared at it for a moment before closing the door between the sitting room and bedroom and undressing. The bed was sinfully soft and Jaskier's eyes fluttered closed as he slid between the sheets. It was cooler within the castle walls and he curled up under the light blanket. Despite being in such a strange place, he found himself drifting to sleep easily. It seemed that finding the place he was meant to be settled something inside him that he hadn't known had been unsettled.

If only he could figure out what to do about his Witcher problem.

*******

When Jaskier woke, he saw a small face peering into his. He lay curled in bed with the little girl lying on top of the covers beside him. She was watching him carefully. Reaching out with a small hand, she poked his cheek with her finger. Her eyes widened.

“You're not a dream,” she whispered.

“Nope. Neither are you,” he said, feeling oddly calm despite the strange awakening.

“Gran said you weren't real.”

“Well,” he said carefully, glancing toward the door to his bedroom, but not seeing anyone in the sitting room. The door to the hallway was closed.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Humpty is down in the kitchens.”

Jaskier's brows went up. “Humpty?”

“Humpty and Dumpty.” She grimaced. “I wish they'd fall off a wall. Can't go anywhere without them,” she muttered.

Jaskier smothered a smile, realizing that he shouldn't be encouraging her, but finding that he really wanted to. “They're here to-”

“To protect me because I'm a princess and princesses need protection,” she said in a thin, mocking voice. She gave him a flat look. “Are you gonna lecture me too 'bout all the stupid stuff I gotta put up with?”

Jaskier grinned. “No. But I think your grandmother would get mad if I didn't at least pretend to.”

A wicked smile spread across her face. “You think they're stupid too.”

“Not stupid. Just. . .” he searched for a word that would be appropriately disparaging to the guards, but not completely insulting. “Overzealous.” 

Her little face pinched in confusion. “What's Oversellus?”

“Over- _zel_ -ous,” he said. “It means that they take their job too seriously and do it with a little too much enthusiasm.”

“But they never smile,” she protested. “Doesn't entus . . . enthoo. . .” She huffed. “What you said. Doesn't it mean they really like it? They hate me.”

“They don't hate you,” Jaskier said, reaching out from under the covers to tuck a strand of her pale hair behind her ear. His bare arm reminded him that he was only in his small clothes. “Can I have some privacy for a moment, Princess? I need to get dressed.”

“Ciri,” she sat as she sat up and climbed off the bed. She was wearing a lacy nightgown that went down to her knees under a light, blue robe.

“What?”

“Ciri. Not _Princess_.” She made a face. “Princesses are lame and can't do what they want.” 

“Ciri, then. I'm Jaskier.”

“Of course you are,” she said before going to the door. She paused as she was pulling it shut behind her, suddenly seeming younger for a moment. “You'll still be here when I close the door, right?” Her voice was small and hesitant.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assured her.

“Okay.” She took a small breath and closed the wooden door with exaggerated care until the latch clicked. 

Jaskier stared briefly at the ceiling and wondered what the hell he was doing. He had no idea what was expected of him beyond playing for the princess. It appeared that there was more to it than that. If she'd been having dreams about him the same way he'd dreamt of her, it went deeper than his brain's unconscious examination of his experiences. He thought his dreams had something to do with the children in Brokilon. He'd never imagined that the little girl he'd seen time and time again was actually a real person.

Getting out of bed, he filled the basin from the full pitcher on the stand and washed his face. There was a fully appointed bath tucked into the corner behind a screen. He looked forward to having it filled later so he could take a long, hot soak. Dressing in the green outfit Lara had given him, he considered his options. He'd need to see the castle laundress and perhaps pay a a visit to Bellamy to see about expanding his wardrobe. He couldn't be stuck with a single outfit and he still wasn't sure he could fit into the turquoise one yet. 

Feeling as ready as he was going to be, he considered what to do with his lute. He didn't like being parted from it, but he wasn't going to carry it around the palace with him until he knew what he was going to be doing here. He'd need a proper stand for it to rest on. Right now, it was sitting in the case, which was safe enough, but having it within easy reach while he was composing would suit him better.

Raised voices from the other room cut his musing short. Ciri's high pitched yelling wasn't quite as ear splitting as her screams had been last night, but they were still loud. She was arguing with a woman, but he didn't recognize the voice.

“You'll get ready for the day and sit down for breakfast like a proper lady, not traipse about in your nightclothes.” 

“I go where I want. I am a _Princess_!”

Jaskier went to the door before it escalated further. 

“Do not argue with me!” The woman was middle aged with a few gray hairs and she wore a simple, but well made gown. Her face was twisted in an angry glare. She advanced on Ciri, but stopped abruptly and curtsied to Jaskier when he came in. “M'Lord. My deepest apologies. I didn't realize these rooms were occupied. I'm so terribly sorry for disturbing you. We were just leaving.” Her tone changed from threatening to simpering respect instantly.

“ _You_ were leaving!” Ciri cried, spoiling her attempt to enforce her authority a bit by moving behind Jaskier and peering out from around his hip. He put a hand on her hair. 

“I'm no lord. Please rise, Madam.” He had no idea why she was treating him with such respect while talking to Ciri like she was a spiteful child. She was willful but deserved better than that. 

“We'll just be going.”

“Go _away_!” Ciri yelled as her fingers clutched at the fabric of Jaskier's trousers.

The woman's mouth pursed in displeasure. “I have been given the responsibility of tending to your ungrateful-” 

“Enough,” Jaskier said, trying to remain calm. Really. He looked down at Ciri. “Now. What's the matter?” Surely she didn't argue like this everyday.

“I _hate_ her!”

“How so?” He didn't like the woman but he didn't know her or Ciri well enough to know if this was a willful spat or if there was a deeper meaning to the little girl's objections.

“She's mean to me and nobody believes me.” Her voice dropped and her eyes glistened, but not in a way the seemed manipulative. She just seemed really upset.

“That's ridiculous,” the woman sputtered. She pleaded with Jaskier, trying a little too hard to convince him. “She's just telling stories like that made up man she said she sees in her dreams.” There was a nervous edge to her words.

Ciri looked up at Jaskier, her expression open and trusting in a way that was a little unnerving. He felt the weight of responsibility weighing on him already. But he believed her. Despite her haughty declaration earlier, he could feel her trembling against his leg. 

“I want Tilly back,” she whispered, her voice small.

“Matilda was a thief,” the woman said dismissively. “She got what she deserved.”

“You're a _liar_!” Ciri yelled. 

“Shhhh.” Jaskier smoothed a hand over Ciri's hair. “No more yelling.” He turned to the woman. “I didn't catch your name.” 

“Donna, m'Lord. Donna Adams.”

He sighed inwardly but didn't correct her again. “Well, Donna. Give us some time and she'll be ready for breakfast.”

“That's hardly proper,” she said. “She'll need help getting dressed which is not the job for a man.”

“I can dress myself,” Ciri said. She looked up at Jaskier imploringly, her voice a quiet whisper. “Can you do buttons?”

“I can do buttons,” he assured her. He held up a hand when Donna started to protest again. “I will help the princess dress for breakfast. Are there any other attendants who can assist if needed?”

“ _I_ am the Princess's lady in waiting,” Donna said with a sniff. “There is no one else.”

Jaskier highly doubted that. At least there should be more than one person. Tutors, personal attendants, or house servants and general. Anyone. If he was going to stay here, he'd need to figure out who was who. He'd never survive in a royal court if he didn't know names, titles, and everyone's current standing. He took a breath. He liked performing, but hated the petty pageantry. It reminded him too much of living the house of Talwyn Pankratz, the man who'd pretended to be his father.

“We'll figure it out ourselves then,” Jaskier told her. 

“And who are you to-”

“I am Jaskier the Bard and I'm here at Queen Calanthe's invitation.” He stared at her until she got nervous enough to curtsy again.

“Of, course, Master Bard,” Donna said with a nod. Her lip curled briefly before she left the room. 

Ciri was still shaking after the door closed and she sucked in a small breath as her fingers tightened on his trousers. Jaskier knelt in front of her and tilted her head up with a finger crooked under her chin. A tear slipped down her cheek and she bit her lip.

“Here, now,” he said as he pulled out a clean handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I know I'm not s'posed to cry.”

“What?”

“Not s'posed to cry. It's not a lady thing. . .a thing ladies. . . “ She hiccuped as she tried to keep it in. Jaskier was reminded of the dream where she'd been trying to stifle her sobs miserably.

“It's okay to cry,” he told her. “It's just me. There's no one else here.”

“Gran doesn't cry. Not even when. . .” Ciri's eyes welled up again. “I miss my mommy,” she whispered miserably. “She never would have let Tilly be taken away.”

“It's alright,” he soothed, wishing there was a rocking chair in here. Maybe he'd ask for one. Scooping her gently up into his arms, he sat in one of the chairs by the cold hearth. He'd lost his own mother when he wasn't much older than Ciri and he remembered how awful it had been. Nobody wanted to talk about it and he'd been told not to cry because it would make the family look bad. Not being able to let the pain out had almost been worse than the sadness itself. He held Ciri as she sobbed quietly, smoothing a hand over her hair until she calmed down again. 

“I'm glad you're here,” she said as she snuggled into his chest.

“Me too.”

“I'm hungry.”

“We better get ready for breakfast, then,” he said as he stood and settled her on his hip to carry her to the door. She was a tiny thing, taking more after her delicate mother than her more muscular father. Heading down the hall, Jaskier came to the door to Ciri's room just as the guard she'd dubbed 'Humpty' came out with his sword drawn. Jaskier turned instinctively, putting himself between Ciri and the blade.

“Easy with the weapons,” Jaskier griped. “There are children present.”

The guard relaxed fractionally. “She wasn't in her room.” There had been mild alarm but bit of weary caution as well, like this wasn't the first time she'd snuck away. 

“Ciri came to say good morning to me, and now we're going to get ready for breakfast.” Jaskier shifted her weight on his hip and she put her head on his shoulder. She was mostly calm now, her reddened eyes the only remaining sign of how upset she'd been earlier. The guard sheathed his sword and relaxed as he looked between the two of them. Jaskier felt like he'd just passed some sort of test.

“I'll be here at the door,” he said. “If you need anything, just ask. I'm Harrison.” 

“Jaskier.” Jaskier nodded at him and moved into Ciri's sitting room so he could set her down and figure out what to do next.


	15. Wary Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever have one of those weeks where _things_ just keep happening? I've run the gambit of things beyond my control. Plumbing problems, AC, car troubles, the works. All good outcomes, but hoo boy, what a week it's been.

Ciri's wardrobe put Jaskier's collection of outfits to shame. How could one little girl have so many clothes?

“Ah. Any preferences?” He asked her as she led him through a door off her bedroom. There were racks and cupboards and shelves full of clothing. Some of the pieces were too small, like she'd outgrown them, while others were a little larger to accommodate a growing child. Ciri went over to one of the large cabinets and pried it open to tug on the fabric of a green dress. 

“This one.”

It was lovely, if a little overly fine for breakfast. It was more suited to being presented at court.

“Are you sure?”

“I wanna match,” she said, looking up at him those big green eyes that were still reddened from crying. It was going to be hard to refuse that look. 

“Alright.” He pulled down the dress and handed it to her, turning around as she shucked her night clothes and pulled it on. Then he helped her with the laces before sitting her at the small vanity in her bedroom so he could braid her hair. 

“You're better at this than Donna.”

I used to braid my best friend's hair all the time.” Years of playing with Essi's hair had given Jaskier a fair amount of experience. 

“You don't do it anymore?” Ciri asked with the guileless curiosity of a four year old. 

“We don't spend as much time together as we used to,” he said as he tucked a stray lock of pale hair away with a barrette. 

“How come?”

Jaskier took a deep breath and sighed as he thought about why he and Essi had been apart so often the last few years. “Because I went traveling.”

Ciri turned on the small, cushioned stool and looked up at him with surprised interest. “Where?”

“All over,” he said with a smile. He imagined that she didn't often get to leave the palace and wondered if she'd ever been outside the city walls. “I'm from the far north and I've been to nearly every country above the Yaruga.”

She leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you ever been to a Modern City?” 

“I grew up in Lettenhove.”

“Are there really moving pictures that tell stories without magic?” Her eyes held a bright anticipation, like it was some exciting secret that she hadn't been able to experience herself.

Jaskier's lips curled in a grin as he considered what to tell her. “How does your grandmother feel about Modern Cities?”

Ciri slumped on the stool and glowered. “She says they're nonsense and that they're all going to fall apart and be part of the Wood some day.” She turned and scowled into the mirror, looking remarkably like Calanthe. “Even if they do, it doesn't mean it's _non_ sense,” she said with a sneer before sighing. “I just wanna see one. 'Lectricity sounds cool.”

“Eee-lectricity,” Jaskier said as he finished securing the braid. “And it's overrated really. I like the Wood better.”

“Why?”

He met her gaze in the mirror. “Magic.”

Ciri rolled her eyes dramatically. “ _Magic_ is overrated.”

This was where Jaskier had to be careful. He couldn't afford to confide in a child that may not understand secrecy well enough to keep things to herself. And he needed to understand Calanthe's attitudes toward magic before he said anything further about his own abilities. Magic wasn't illegal here since Mousesack was part of her court and he'd cast magic openly in front of her during the betrothal feast. But caution would be best.

“Well,” he said as she got to her feet and put on a pair of soft slippers. “I like magic and it's a part of everything here.”

Ciri scrunched up her nose but didn't reply as she stood and took his hand before leading him to the door. He caught sight of their reflection in the mirror standing side by side and blew out a breath. They looked like they'd purposefully coordinated their outfits. And he was struck suddenly by how much she looked like a miniature Pavetta. The green dress was similar in cut to the one her mother had worn to the betrothal feast. He wasn't sure how this was going to go over with the queen. 

Down the hall, Mousesack had his hand raised to knock on Jaskier's door, but he paused when he saw them. Grief flickered briefly in his gaze as he looked at the princess in her gown before he quickly buried it. Her appearance was definitely bringing up memories.

“Good morning, Princess,” Mousesack said with a respectful nod. 

“Morning, Mousesack.” She hugged Jaskier's hand and beamed. “Jaskier's finally here.”

“I know, my dear. I was there when he arrived last night.” He held out his hand, guiding them forward. “Let's not keep your Grandmother waiting again.” His tone implied that punctuality was not currently one of Ciri's skills. 

They headed down the hall and Jaskier tried to keep track of where they were so he could get his bearings. He'd need to be able to find his way around without a guide. He supposed he could ask one of the ever-present guards. Harrison trailed behind them as they traveled downward and entered a small dining room, and he stationed himself outside the door. 

Eist and Calanthe were already seated at a table laid out with a variety of dishes from eggs and thick slabs of bacon to delicate crepes and fruit. The queen stilled when they entered, her eyes locking onto Ciri in her little green gown with an expression of broken longing that was hard to look at. Jaskier held very still, trying not to draw her attention. And then Calanthe relaxed and he was able to take a breath. He wasn't sure if he was expected to bow or not. Ciri's grip on his hand tightened briefly before she let go and went over to kiss Calanthe's cheek. 

“Morning, Gran. Eist.”

Eist leaned down to hug her warmly when she reached up. Something inside Jaskier settled. There was love in this house. Despite their aloof, yet passionate display in public at the banquet years ago, they cared. He wasn't sure why he expected them not to. It had been obvious that Calanthe loved her daughter then, and she loved her granddaughter now.

“Well. Don't just stand there, Bard,” Calanthe said, her tone bored. “Come sit down and eat or get out.”

Ciri hopped up into the chair at Calanthe's right hand and patted the seat beside her as she smiled at Jaskier. “Sit next to me.”

“Oh, dear. Have I been replaced so quickly?” Mousesack asked in mock despair as he moved around to sit next to Eist on the other side of the table. 

“No,” Ciri said, not at all fooled. “Jaskier is my guest,” she said primly. “And I want him to sit _here_.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Mousesack said easily with a genuine smile. 

Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair with the exception of Ciri chattering about her day and about the people who lived in the palace. The food was excellent and Jaskier was able to eat his fill easily while sipping some excellent coffee. There was no talk of policy or government, probably because this was their private time and they were more focused on Ciri than each other. And Jaskier was an outsider. He didn't expect to be made part of any inner circle. But he was curious about what he was going to be doing during his stay. 

When they were finished and the dishes were cleared, Mousesack gave Ciri a knowing look. “Time for your lessons, Princess.” 

“Awww. But I thought. . .” 

“I know you thought you could get out of them today, but that is not the case,” the Druid said evenly. 

She looked up at Jaskier imploringly. “Can you come with me?”

“I don't. . .” Jaskier began before Calanthe cut him off by speaking to Ciri.

“I would like him to keep me company this morning, Ciri. Off to your lessons.” Though her tone was light enough, there was no arguing with it and Ciri nodded. She stood on her toes and Jaskier leaned down so she could kiss his cheek before scampering towards the door where Mousesack waited for her. They left, leaving Jaskier alone with the queen and her consort. He had no idea what to say and any flowery words would probably just annoy her. 

Calanthe and Eist exchanged a glance before she got up while he remained seated. She roamed around the dining room as if examining the items on the long side board and the paintings on the walls. 

“My granddaughter is quiet fond of you already,” she said casually, her tone at odds with the tension humming on the air. 

“I am happy to spend time with her, if that's what she'd like.” Jaskier watched Calanthe warily and tried to remain relaxed. She'd walked her way around the table and moved toward him unhurriedly. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier could see Eist watching him. 

“What type of liberal arts have you studied?” Eist asked him, drawing his attention fully. He supposed they'd want to know his background. It wasn't like he'd filled out an application with his qualifications for. . . whatever this turned out to be.

“Well. I went to school to study music, but the general education requirements at the University of Lettenhove had me studying, science, maths, and history as well.”

“What about magic?” Calanthe asked from directly behind him.

“Just some basic theory classes. There's no practical application outside of the Wood. I-” Jaskier gasped a blade kissed his throat. Calanthe's other hand came to rest on his left shoulder, keeping him in the chair with a bruisingly tight grip. He tilted his head back a little as his breath stuttered in his throat. Eist's calm expression didn't change. Calanthe leaned down to speak into Jaskier's ear, her tone soft yet incredibly threatening, it's sweet sound dripping with menace.

“If I find out you've ensorceled my granddaughter, I will personally cut out your tongue and feed it to you before pulling out your intestines one inch at a time.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jaskier said, his tone breathy.

“She's been talking about you for months. She described you in detail from the inlays on your lute down to the color and design of the clothing currently in your bags, and yet you have not set foot in my court since she was born. Have you been communicating with her? Trying to gain her trust?” Calanthe demanded.

Jaskier's thoughts whirled. “Not on purpose. They were just dreams,” he gasped as the blade pressed hard enough to nick his skin. “I didn't know who she was! Didn't even know she was real,” he bit out. He gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. Oh, gods, he was going to die here. Coming to Cintra had been a mistake. 

“ _What_ dreams?” she asked sharply. “Be very specific.”

Jaskier stumbled his way through a brief summary of what had happened at the betrothal and the dreams that followed. He tripped over details and tried not to mention Geralt, for fear that it would anger her further. 

“You have magic,” she said. It wasn't a question.

“Yes. Mousesack knows. Ask him.”

“I have. At length. He doesn't know how it works. You're not a Sorcerer or a Druid.”

“I'm a Bard.”

Calanthe chuckled with contempt. “I am aware of your vocation,” she said her tone dry.

“It's not just a vocation for me. I can weave magic with my music and my voice.” Right now, his voice was currently trembling as the metal of the blade warmed against his skin from remaining in contact with his throat for so long. “It's mostly to heal myself and I can calm myself and others by singing.”

“What did you do at the betrothal?” Her voice was getting harder.

“Nothing! I _swear_.” Jaskier blew out a terrified breath and tried to stay calm. “I had no idea what was happening. I still don't know what happened.”

Across the table, Eist studied him thoughtfully before nodding at Calanthe. The queen removed the dagger and stepped away, sliding the blade into the sheath at the back of her belt with a practiced motion. 

“Your stay here is conditional. Should you do anything to endanger or harm her, you will beg me to kill you,” Calanthe said calmly, staring at him with hard eyes until he nodded, the quick movement jerky and almost humiliatingly acquiescent. And then she left the room without a word. 

Jaskier slumped in the chair, wanting nothing more than to melt into the floor. He touched his throat gingerly and his fingertips came back with a small smear of blood. He whispered to himself to quickly heal it, ignoring Eist, who continued to watch him.

“You understand our caution,” Eist said calmly.

“I do,” Jaskier admitted. “Though I wish we had talked about it with a little less. . .stabbiness.” 

Eist laughed quietly and got up, gesturing for Jaskier to follow him. He was amiable and calm, like his wife hadn't just threatened to cut Jaskier's throat in front of him mere moments before. Not knowing what else to do, Jaskier got up and followed. 

They traveled through the halls of the palace with Harrison trailing behind them. Apparently, he'd become Jaskier's shadow. He supposed it could be worse. The man seemed friendly enough, given his position. 

They climbed several flights of stairs until going down a hallway that opened out onto a parapet overlooking the harbor. The ships looked small from this height, but it wasn't so far away that they couldn't see the people moving about. 

“We lost our daughter and her husband just a few short weeks ago,” Eist said as he looked out over the sea. His stance made it look like he'd be more comfortable on the deck of a ship.

“I was saddened to hear of their loss,” Jaskier said quietly. 

“Were you really?” The other man asked, his brow raised as he glanced over. “You didn't know them.”

Jaskier returned his look evenly, not hiding the shadow of grief that welled up at the thought of their passing. “I lost my mother at a young age,” he said quietly. “I'm glad Ciri has the two of you, but there is nothing that will replace her parents. No one should have to deal with that kind of pain so young.”

Seemingly satisfied by what he saw in Jaskier's face, Eist turned back to look out over the harbor again. “Ciri was inconsolable for days and it was a long time before she was calm enough to be left alone in a room by herself. But as you saw last night, she still wakes in a panic.” His fingers tightened on the stone railing. “After you sang to her. . .” He paused. “That was the deepest she's slept since it happened.”

“I will sing to her every night if it means she can sleep in peace.” Jaskier's lip twitched. “Though I will do it for your sake as well. I imagine nights have not been peaceful for some time.” He remembered what Mousesack had said the night before about Jaskier bringing peace to the house. 

Eist smirked. “You learn to live with the sleep you can get. But there is no amount of gold or jewels that could pay for a good night's rest and peace of mind.”

Geralt had been willing to seek the help of a Jinn to find a solution to his sleeping problems, though it hadn't worked out the way he'd intended. Jaskier's expression fell as he remembered how the Witcher had told him that he didn't sleep well alone. Had he found a way to adjust? Or had he not slept properly since they'd parted ways on the mountain?

“What's wrong?” Eist asked him.

Jaskier snapped himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, nothing.” He shook his head. “Just a bad memory.”

“Mousesack said you told him that you don't travel with the Witcher anymore.”

“I don't.”

“So he won't show up here looking for you?”

“No.” He hadn't bothered to come looking for him at the tavern after the mountain. Why would he come here? “If it makes you feel any better, he has no intention of fulfilling his claim with the Law of Surprise. He vowed never to set foot in Cintra again.” Jaskier shrugged when Eist shot him an incredulous look. “He wasn't happy about calling it in the first place. I told him to ask for money next time.”

Eist huffed an incredulous laugh and shook his head. “It's for the best, I suppose.”

“What about Destiny and laws that are older than time?” Jaskier asked him. Eist had been one of the ones who'd convinced Calanthe to honor Duny's bargain with Roegner, her first husband. It was one of the only reasons he'd been allowed to marry Pavetta in the first place.

“It's easy to be passionate about an ideal when you don't know what it really means,” Eist said heavily. “I never had any children of my own, but now that I have Cirilla. . .” He sighed. “I won't easily give her up.”

“Nor should you,” Jaskier told him. “But like I said, it's mostly a moot point. Geralt won't be coming here. I haven't seen him in almost three years.” And that seemed like such a long time now. 

“Alright.” Eist clapped him companionably on the shoulder. “I'd best be off before she sends someone searching for me. Petitions wait for no man.” The unenthusiastic tone of his voice made it clear how he felt about that. “You have the run of the palace, though I wouldn't go poking about in the barracks on your own.”

“Is it alright if I go out into the city? There are a few things I need if I'm going to stay here.” He quickly added an addendum. “I'll ask the steward for anything related to my rooms, but there are some things I want to take care of on my own.”

“I can respect that,” Eist said with a nod. “As long as you're here in the evenings for Ciri, and whenever Calanthe requires your presence, you're free to go where you wish. But a word of caution,” he added. “Whatever abilities you posses, keep them to yourself.”

“I hadn't planned on telling either of _you_ about them. I'm not going to share with anyone else.” Jaskier's lips thinned. “I don't advertise. I'm still learning, and I'd rather nobody knew about it.” The list of people who were aware of his magic was already distressingly long. 

Eist nodded. “None shall hear it from me. I make no promises for my wife, but she's not exactly keen to share such things on a good day. Your secret should be safe with her.”

“Thank you. When will Ciri be done with her lessons? I'll be available every evening, but I don't want to leave her by herself for too long just yet. I think we should work towards that a little more slowly.”

“Don't let Calanthe think you're coddling her.”

Jaskier just barely resitting the urge to roll his eyes. “Ensuring that she doesn't get anxious that I've left already is hardly coddling. And both of you already dote on her. I can see it.”

“A grandparent's privilege,” Eist shrugged. 

“Of course. But I just want Ciri to be happy. She won't be a child forever. If I can lighten her spirits by spending time with her, I'd like to do that as much as possible while I can.” He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to do that, but he'd try.

Eist regarded him thoughtfully again. “The Witcher was a fool to toss you aside.”

Jaskier swallowed as his heart twisted lightly. He shrugged to cover it. “I try not to dwell on it.”

Nodding again, Eist paused before heading to the door that led back inside. “Ciri will be done with her lessons with Mousesack around lunchtime. After lunch, I'm taking her riding. You're welcome to join us.”

“I'd like that,” Jaskier said as he watched him leave. But before then, he had some errands to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I love the idea of Eist and Calanthe as Good Cop/Stabby Cop.


	16. Dress for Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! May the week treat you kindly.

The city was much the same as it had been the last time he'd been here years ago. There was some new construction and the some of the side streets had been resurfaced, but Jaskier still knew his way around. Bellamy's shop in the Crafter's Quarter in the southern part of the city looked a bit finer than it had before with new paned windows and a freshly painted sign hanging above the door. She'd been doing well for herself. Inside, there was a pair of cushioned chairs just inside the door in a well appointed sitting area with a low table set for tea. A full length mirror stood on the other side of the door with a small stool made for patrons to stand on while Bellamy measured hemlines. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Bellamy drawled from where she worked at a high table on the other side of the room. A young man and woman sat on the other side of the table, and they looked up from the cloth they were stitching by hand to look at Jaskier. They appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties.

“Bellamy, my dear. You're looking lovelier than ever,” Jaskier said with a flourishing bow.

The pleasantly plump woman snorted and snipped a thread before scanning him briefly. “And you got fat.”

“I have merely been living comfortably,” he replied, trying not to be annoyed. He hadn't gained that much weight. He was just a little soft around his middle from his time in Ard Carraigh and he still needed a bit more exercise before he trimmed down to his previous measurements. There hadn't been enough time while he was staying with Essi. Living in the palace eating with the royal family probably wasn't going to help. 

“I'll bet,” Bellamy muttered. “Never thought to see your face again after all the fuss the last time I saw you.”

“Well,” Jaskier shrugged. “I honestly didn't expect to be here again, and yet here I am.”

“Indeed you are,” she said putting the piece she was working on down. She got up and came over, running her fingers lightly over the stitching at the shoulder of his green doublet. “Not bad.” She drew in a breath. “A bit Modern, if I'm not mistaken.”

“You're not.”

“So what can I do for you this fine day?” 

“I'm a bit. . .wardrobe challenged at the moment. I need some new clothes. A couple casual looks, some mix and match pieces, as well as a few outfits for court appearances.”

Bellamy whistled. “You don't want much, eh?”

“I'm starting from scratch, as it were. And I'm willing to pay half up front for your time and attention.” Most of his clothes were stranded in Kaer Morhen, presumably never to be seen again. And while he still had some pieces at Elihal's place, Novigrad was too far away. Mousesack must have brought him here with teleportation, but he couldn't ask him to ferry him around the Continent. None of his things would fit right now anyway. 

“Well, you came to the right place. Kieran, go make some tea for our lovely guest. Sadie, pull out a few of the shirts from the back along with that cloak you've been draping. I think we've found our man. And you,” she said to Jaskier as she gestured to one of the cushioned seats and she pulled out a notebook and a pencil. “Have a seat and let's talk designs.” 

The assistants set to their appointed tasks with the girl heading into one of the large closets while the boy picked up a crutch and maneuvered his way out from behind the table and into the other room. Jaskier took a seat and crossed one leg over the other. He took the folder Bellamy passed him, opening the cover to see loose pages with brightly colored sketches. His brows rose as he flipped through and saw various cuts, embroidery designs, and color combinations. 

“Oh, these are lovely,” he murmured, feeling like he'd just found a goldmine. As much as he adored Elihal's work, the Elf never put any of his designs to paper. He always jumped straight into draping and cutting fabric. 

“Sadie's quite the artist,” Bellamy said, with a hint of pride in her voice. “Found her down in Attre making ugly, misshapen candles for a bastard chandler. Saved her from a shit arraigned marriage and brought her back up here. Her hand is a bit unsteady with a needle yet, but her imagination and eye for color is a hidden gem.”

“And the boy?” Bellamy had been working alone when he last saw her. 

“Kieran's my brother's son.” Her brow wrinkled. “Army wouldn't take him because of a his bum leg. Twisted at birth, the poor thing. But it's just as well. His stitching is a marvel and he does amazing work with his hands. Once he gets a handle on draping and develops a better eye for proportion, he'll be better than me. His talents would be wasted in the military.”

Jaskier thought of Vaz and how he'd been recruited young. “I'm glad he had you to take him in.”

“He's a good lad,” she said fondly. 

Sadie came out with an armful of clothes and set them on the work table before heading into the other room where Kieran had gone. She came back out with a tray holding a steaming teapot and a plate of pretty looking cookies. A bright smile had lightened up her face. Kieran followed her out with a light blush dusting his cheeks as he settled back at the table and picked up his work again. Jaskier lips curled in a small smirk as he went back to flipping through the sketches. 

A doublet and trousers of rich peach caught his eye. They had teal accents and there were doodles in the margins of curling vines and leaves. 

“I like this one.”

“I thought you might. We'll pick out a few things from here and we're open to any ideas you might have. Let me take your measurements and Kieran can get started on alterations so you have some new shirts.” Bellamy eyed him as she got up to retrieve her tape measure. “And we can take some of these in later if you ever find yourself feeling. . . smaller.”

Jaskier eyed her balefully. “How delicately put,” he said, his tone dry. “I took a break from the road and spent a lot of time baking.” He stood and went over to the mirror so she could start measuring.

“And sampling to goods, apparently.” 

“Do you speak to all your clients this way?” he said, with mock indignance as he held his arms out. The smile on his face softened the ire in his words.

“Oh, no. You're special, Dearie,” Bellamy laughed. “A bard who bakes.” She shook her head. “Who would have thought.”

“A bard?” Sadie asked, pausing where she was recording the measurements.

“This here is Jaskier the Bard,” Bellamy said as she spread her hands like she was presenting him formally. He didn't even mind the sardonic twist of her words.

Sadie gasped and clutched the notebook to her chest. “Really? 'Sunshine at Midnight' is my favorite.”

Jaskier wished he'd brought his lute. He smiled at her warmly, even as his heart tugged at him. There was no way he'd get around singing about Geralt. Most of his work was based on the Witcher, either as a way to promote him or as something Jaskier wrote to work through his feelings about him. He'd have to come up with some new material, but for now he was stuck with his current repertoire. 

“Thank you for the kind words, madam,” he said with a nod. Sadie smiled and went back to the notebook as a flush crept up her neck. 

“Will you be playing in the city?” she asked.

“I don't have any bookings yet, but If I have any future engagements, I'll be sure to let you know.” He winked at her and she ducked her head shyly. Bellamy whacked him lightly on the ass with a ruler from the table.

“Enough of that,” she grumped. “You're here to get new clothing, not flirt with my staff.”

Kieran looked up from the seam he was stitching and Jaskier winked at him too. The boy blushed hotly and giggled while Bellamy grumbled under her breath.   
“Gods save me from schmarmy bards,” she muttered.

“I'm not _schmarmy_ , I'm charming,” Jaskier said primly. 

“Hmph. Well, Mr. Charming, you've gained a few inches around your middle.” She poked him in the belly and he curled his lip at her. “But we'll put together some things to get you started. Come back tomorrow for the shirts and cloak, and then we'll pick out a few fabrics to get started on the rest.”

By the the time Jaskier left the shop, they'd put together a design package for him and he'd given her a down payment for the work, with the promise of a bonus if he could get at least one completed outfit by the end of the week. He wasn't sure when Calanthe would want to present him at court, but he needed something as soon as possible. It was nearly lunchtime and he got back to the palace just in time to sit down to eat with Ciri and Mousesack. Calanthe and Eist were dining with their advisors. 

“And how were your lessons, this morning?” Jaskier asked Ciri as he crouched down to catch her when she flew at him from across the room. She thumped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“I hate maths,” she said, her voice muffled in the fabric of his collar. 

“So do I.” He murmured into her hair and held her until she was ready to let go. He wondered at her easy attachment to him. It was like she'd known him all her life, but he didn't feel he'd earned that level of trust yet. When they pulled away and sat at the table to a meal of meats and cheeses, Jaskier looked to Mousesack who was watching them with interest. “I have a few questions, if that's alright,” Jaskier said. The other man seemed reasonable enough, but Jaskier really didn't know him yet. 

“Ask me anything,” Mousesack said with a nod. “I may even have an answer.”

Ciri leaned over and whispered to Jaskier. “He likes it when you come up with the answer yourself. Like you should already know instead of asking at all,” she said with frown.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Jaskier said with a smile. He had several questions he wanted to ask, preferably when they were alone, but he wasn't sure when he'd have the chance. 

“It's not that you should already know, my dear,” Mousesack said after taking a sip from his mug. “It's that I want you to think before you ask.”

“Why do I have to _think_? I'll always have someone to ask.”

“One day you will be queen and the people will be the ones to ask _you_ questions,” Mousesack insisted. “As their ruler, you will have to be the one to come up with the answers.”

Ciri grumped into her plate and picked up her mug of juice. “Gran has ad _vi_ sors,” she muttered into her cup. “Why can't I have advisors?”

“You will have advisors and confidants like any other ruler,” Mousesack reminded her. “They are there to provide perspective and guidance. But ultimately, you will need to think for yourself.”

“What's a confidant?” she asked with a frown.

Jaskier looked down at her as he was putting slices of meat and cheese on a piece of toasted bread. “A confidant is someone that you can talk to. They listen and sometimes offer advice. They can be a companion or a close friend.”

Ciri sighed. “Tilly used to do that,” she said sadly. “Now she's gone.”

Jaskier looked to Mousesack who had a pinched expression on his face.

“Why was she removed?” Jaskier asked him. He wanted to hear it from someone other than her replacement. He didn't trust Donna. 

“I don't think this is appropriate lunch conversation.” The Druid focused on his plate like the subject was closed.

“I thought you wanted Ciri to think for herself. How can she make informed decisions if she doesn't know how they're made?” Jaskier kept his expression neutral as Mousesack gave him a withering look. 

“Household staff are expected to hold themselves to the highest standard.”

“Did she not do that?”

“She was _lovely_!” Ciri shouted.

“Inside voice,” Jaskier murmured.

Ciri's nose scrunched up. “What's an inside voice?”

“When you're inside, you speak softer and only loud enough for people to hear you. When you're outside, then you can shout.”

“Well that's dumb.”

“It's prudent,” Mousesack told her.

Ciri looked up at Jaskier with a look of suspicion. “I thought your weren't gonna lecture me. Mousesack already does that.”

“Only because we love you,” Jaskier said solemnly. 

Ciri sighed again, a long suffering sound full of resignation. “Okay. But Tilly was so nice. I don't understand why she's gone.” She picked at her plate, pushing around a few bits of food.

“There was evidence that she was stealing and she was dismissed,” Mousesack told her, not unkindly. “We can't have an attendant that steals from your Grandmother.”

“What did she steal?” Jaskier asked. Context was important. It could have been valuables, or it could have been food. Both would be viewed as crimes, but the circumstances would be vastly different. He didn't think the servants and staff were kept destitute. They looked too healthy for that. 

“A necklace went missing and she was found wearing it.”

Ciri's head snapped up. “But I _gave_ her that necklace,” she protested. “It was a gift! Did she not say?”

Mousesack frowned. “She did.” 

“And you didn't believe her,” Jaskier said. It wasn't a question. 

“The steward didn't believe her,” Mousesack countered. “There was no reason to question further.”

“Did you even look into it at all?”

“We've been a bit. . . distracted.” 

Jaskier didn't prod at that further. Of course they had. The death of Pavetta and her husband must have been distracting indeed. 

“Can this be investigated further? With all due respect to the steward, there appears to be more to it than just suspicion.”

“I suppose.”

“Pleeeease?” Ciri asked, looking desperate.

“I make no promises. The queen may not allow an investigation at this stage. But I will ask.”

“Okay.” Ciri was glum, but seemed to know not to push. 

“Until then,” Jaskier said. “May I request another lady in waiting for Ciri? She needs someone she trusts to help her. It's somewhat less than productive to start the day with an argument.”

“Again?” Mousesack asked Ciri.

“I don't like her,” Ciri said miserably. 

“You're going to have to deal with a great many people you don't like during your lifetime,” Mousesack told her.

“But what's the value in being miserable when you don't have to feel that way? Being able to choose your personal companions is important.” Jaskier held his gaze. 

“Which is why we let her keep you,” Mousesack said dryly. They stared at each other for a few moments until the Druid finally looked away. “But I will look into Ms. LeMoine's circumstances personally,” he said finally.

Ciri clapped her hands. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“I make no promises, Princess,” Mousesack added quickly. “If you Grandmother says no, that's the end of it.”

Ciri nodded solemnly. She seemed to have a great deal of respect for Calanthe. 

“Well, now that's settled,” Jaskier said as they finished eating. “You'll need to change into something for riding this afternoon.” When her expression brightened, he smiled. “You Grandfather invited me along, if you'd like me to come.”

“Yes, yes! Come with us. We're riding over the fields where you can see the ocean!”

“Well,” Mousesack said as he excused himself. “I'll see you at dinner then.” As he headed out the door, Ciri leaned over again.

“He hates horses,” she said in a loud whisper.

Jaskier stifled a laugh as he ushered her out of the room and upstairs. “It's not nice to whisper behind someone's back.” 

“Well it's true. He never goes riding with me.”

“I'm sure he has many other things to do,” Jaskier said as he opened the door to her rooms. She saved him from trying to find something suitable for riding by scampering off into her wardrobe and emerging with a set of split skirts the color of dark cocoa and a cream top. He unlaced the green gown so she could take it off before going in to find pair of sturdy boots. There were two pairs, one in sturdy leather, and another lined with fur. It was the beginning of summer so the regular leather would suit for now. When he came back out into the sitting room, she was tucking in the blouse and smoothing her skirts. She accepted the boots with a grin and sat on the floor to put them on. Jaskier sighed and looked at the ottoman she'd ignored to sit directly on the rug. One thing at a time.

“Do you know how to ride a horse?” she asked as she stood and took his hand to lead him into the hallway. “You're always walking when I see you.”

“Yes, I do.” He didn't ask when she'd seen him walking. It must have been in the dreams. “It's been a while, but I haven't forgotten.” And he was just now realizing how sore he was going to be by the end of the day. He hadn't been on a horse in more than two years. “Just a moment,” he said as he paused to enter his room and get his lute.

“Are you going to play?” she asked excitedly. 

“Not while riding, but you never know when you're going to have the opportunity.” He slung the strap over his shoulder and settled it on his back. “I don't like traveling without it.”


	17. Settling In

Jaskier was given a beautiful sorrel gelding to ride in the stables by a friendly stable hand. Jaskier took the reigns and looked the horse in the eye. 

“We're going to be friends, right?” 

The horse eyed him and looked away, disinterested. Right, then. He'd been spoiled by Roach all those years. The only other mount he'd worked with had been a mare that was cowed by Roach so badly, he'd given her to a farmer who'd lost his mount. Mounting carefully, he tried not to wince as his unused muscles protested. It was going to be a long ride and he figured he'd be spending a fair amount of time recovering this evening. 

Eist scooped Ciri up and placed her in front of him on the saddle on top of a massive bay warhorse. She barely took up any space as she patted the horse's mane and grinned. The horse was calmly patient and allowed the eager touch with grace. 

They were surrounded by a handful of companions and guards, all of them mounting. Harrison stuck close to Jaskier and the first guard Jaskier had seen last night was trailing after Eist and Ciri. Four more mounted men accompanied them. A large, dark man in silver armor with a sword at his hip rode at Eist's right while a bearded man wearing Tuirseach colors and a blue sash rode at his left. 

“You're bringing a bard?” the bearded man asked as he glanced at Jaskier in surprise.

“That's Jaskier,” Ciri said, like it was obvious.

“Of course, Sweetling,” the man said with a grin as he indulged her. “But you've shown no interest in music and you scared the last one so badly, his breaches practically caught fire as he ran out the door.” Their entourage chuckled as they headed out of the inner courtyard into the city. 

“They were so dumb, Olaf. And the other one kept singing about lovey dovey stuff and unicorns.” Her face screwed up in a grimace. “I wanna hear about knights and battles, not girly things.”

“I'm Jaskier the Bard, at your service,” Jaskier introduced himself with a small, seated bow.

“Olaf Stigvason,” the bearded man said. He nodded at the dark man on Eist's other side. “That there's Sir Danek. Carter and Jacks are hardly worth mentioning.” He chuckled at the good-natured grumbling from the other two men. “And Harrison and David, you've probably already met.” 

'Humpty' and 'Dumpty', as Ciri had dubbed them. Harrison was the friendly one. David seemed to take his job a little too seriously. 

Once outside the city gates, they let the horses run and headed out along the fields outside the walls, traveling in line with the cliffs to the south. Jaskier's attention was torn between trying to keep up and enjoying the wind in his hair. Ciri was riding with her arms held out wide, her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Even Eist seemed more at ease out here. They traveled for a while until they slowed to a stop at a circle of stones overlooking the ocean. Harrison, David, Carter and Jax ranged around a short distance away, giving them some semblance of privacy.

Danek dismounted and pulled out a blanket before setting it out over the grass. Eist handed Ciri down to him and she ignored the blanket, promptly flopping down into the grass next to it and stretching out on her back to look up at the clouds. There was a resigned sigh from Danek. Jaskier just grinned as he dismounted, trying not to wince as his sore muscles protested.

“I like it out here,” she said as she looked up at Jaskier when he came over to her and settled in the grass at her side. 

“It's nice,” he agreed. He pulled his lute out and sat it comfortably in his lap, strumming the strings idly. The sound of the waves was a quiet hush in the background and there was no one else around. 

“When are we going to Skellige?” she asked Eist as he settled on the blanket on her other side. 

He sighed heavily. “We may need to stay here this summer.”

“What!? Why?” Ciri sat up abruptly. “We go every summer!”

“Cirilla,” Eist said gently as he plucked a blade of grass from her hair. “It may be some time before your Grandmother is comfortable with us traveling by sea.” There was regret and sadness in his voice. Danek studiously ignored it where he stood a few feet away. Olaf flopped down beside Eist and offered him a flask. Eist shook his head and the other man shrugged before taking a swig and tucking it away again.

“But I don't want to stay here for the summer,” Ciri complained. “It's hot and gross.” 

Jaskier played a soothing melody, keeping it subtly in the background. 

“I'll talk to her,” Eist said. “I want to go as well, but we'll have to plan carefully.”

Ciri moved over and crawled into Eist's lap. He curled around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Mousesack's getting Tilly back for me,” she said quietly. “I want her to come with us.”

“Is he, now?”

“Yep. Ask Jaskier.”

Eist shot Jaskier a pointed look.

“She doesn't like Donna.” Jaskier shrugged, having no reason not to be honest. “Neither do I.” 

“She came highly recommended by the steward,” Eist said evenly.

“Then his recommendations are crap,” Jaskier said with another shrug and a soft pluck of strings.

“Oh, I like this one,” Olaf said with a laugh. “Don't find many that dare to be so forward on the mainland. Good on you, lad.” 

“If Ms. LeMoine is truly deemed unacceptable,” Jaskier said carefully, realizing that caution was best despite the friendly company. “You'll still need to find someone else.” Stilling the strings, he looked at Eist evenly. “Ciri needs people she can trust that don't irritate her to distraction. And she could do with a companion that she can talk to.”

“I can talk to _you_ ,” Ciri said. 

“I meant, you need a female companion. There are things you're going to need to talk about that I can't help you with.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm a man,” Jaskier said reasonably, not wanting to elaborate. 

Ciri was still too young to understand some of it, and while his years with Essi and multiple partners had made him comfortable with the female body, this was a very particular setting. He'd have to find out more about how everyone related to each other. With the way Olaf and Danek shifted uncomfortably, he figured feminine needs were still a bit taboo here. Jaskier had few inhibitions there, but he'd still needed to be careful. 

“No wonder Gran says men are useless,” Ciri muttered.

Eist rolled his eyes and chuckled quietly. “Not useless, Pet. Just. . . inexperienced.”

Ciri pulled back and frowned up at him. “I don't get it.”

“You'll understand when you're older,” Jaskier told her as he started to play again. They sat looking out over the ocean quietly as the notes trailed out over the air. 

*******

After riding back, Ciri insisted on giving Jaskier a tour of the castle. How did one small child have so much energy? Jaskier's thighs and hips were already complaining from the ride. He felt like he was cheating a bit when he sang quietly to himself in the stables to ease the aches. It wasn't something he should get in a habit of doing. His healing came with scars and with his luck, he'd end up giving himself mobility issues in the long term. 

She took him up to her favorite tower that gave a long, wide view of the city below. Jaskier's heart fluttered somewhere in his stomach as he tried not to think about how high up they were. Then it was down to the kitchens where Ciri was greeted warmly by the cooks and scullery maids. She must visit often which wasn't surprising, given the crockery secreted away in her room for use as vases. A few looked up at Jaskier in surprise when he was introduced. How many people had she told about her imaginary dream friend? He just smiled and chatted amiably before they were shooed out so they could finish preparing dinner. 

The library wasn't quite as impressive as he'd hoped it would be. There were some beautifully bound volumes and several shelves lined with texts chronicling royal bloodlines and historical events. But the library in Kaer Morhen put this one to shame and both were overshadowed by the countless rooms of books in Gelibol. Even so, Jaskier could see spending some time here when he didn't have any other engagements. 

The study was much more comfortable with deep, recessed window seats with thick cushions and a wide fireplace. Tall, paned glass windows opened out onto the city, giving a fine view without making his stomach jump up into his throat. There was a scattering of carved figurines by the hearth and Ciri introduced him to all of them. They were from a chess set and all of the pieces had been carved out of semi precious stones. One side was made from lapis and the other from black marble with gold veining. Jaskier felt a sudden chill. It probably wasn't a coincidence that the colors were for Cintra and Nilfgaard. He hoped they'd never have to face each other on the battle field for real. 

A detailed doll sewn from colorful fabrics sat neatly on the mantle, looking clean and untouched like it hadn't seen much love. It wore a pretty dress with a tall pointed hat trailing a gossamer veil. It looked like a quintessential storybook princess. 

“What about this one?” he asked. “What's her name?”

Ciri looked up at the doll and frowned. “Troll Face.”

Jaskier's brows rose. “Really. She looks rather lovely for such a name.”

“She's boring. All the stories about her are about her waiting for a prince to come rescue her. Why can't she rescue him?” she asked, glaring up at the doll like it had insulted her. 

“There's no reason she can't. You think your Grandmother waited around for someone to rescue her?”

“No. She didn't. Gran does everything a man can do. Sometimes better.”

“You can be any kind of princess you like. It's for you to decide.”

Ciri considered this for a moment. “Okay.”

“Come on. Let's go wash up for dinner.” He held out his hand so he could take her to her room to wash her face and hands. 

“Will you play tonight?” she asked.

“If you like. You may have to ask your Grandmother. There are some songs she doesn't like.” She'd called his singing ' _maudlin nonsense_ ' at the betrothal before asking for a “jig” instead of his prepared set.

“Hmnph.” Ciri huffed and took him to the dining room. He still had his lute with him from the ride and he set it against the wall behind his chair before sitting at the table. Mousesack joined them a few moments later. 

“And how was your afternoon, Princess?” he asked.

“We rode out to the stones today, and I showed Jaskier the armies, and he's going to sing!” She chattered about their day while simultaneously telling Jaskier about her lessons from this morning and the previous days before he'd arrived. 

Jaskier and Mousesack stood when Calanthe and Eist arrived. She seemed irritated and harried, which didn't bode well for the singing. Her expression softened when Ciri went over to hug her and she leaned down to kiss her forehead. The chatter didn't stop until Ciri had hugged Eist as well and she finally sat back down in her seat. Calanthe had an odd look on her face, like this wasn't Ciri's usual behavior. Her gaze shifted over to Jaskier who tried not to feel intimidated by her stare.

“You've had a busy day, it seems.” She spoke to Ciri even though she still held Jaskier's gaze as the servants came in to lay out the evening meal of stewed lamb, pickled vegetables, and soft bread. 

“Can Jaskier sing for us after?” Ciri asked. Her tone held none of the pleading she used on others. It was a straightforward request. 

Calanthe considered it for a moment as she sat, her eyes flicking over to the lute in its case before coming back to rest on Jaskier. “Of course.” 

He had no idea what she meant by that. Her emotions could sometimes be clear and obvious, but she knew how to hide them well. 

“As you like, Your Majesty,” he said with a nod. Dinner was quiet and he felt an odd pang of anticipation. He realized he hadn't performed for anyone since returning to the Wood. He didn't doubt his skills necessarily, but this was a very specific audience. When the plates had been cleared and everyone was settled with wine or juice, he pulled the lute from the case and grazed his fingertips over the strings. “Any requests?”

Ciri frowned. “I don't know what songs you sing, 'cept for the one.” she said finally.

“Sing 'The Howl of the White Wolf,” Calanthe said, her tone rich and slightly teasing. 

Jaskier looked at her again and saw a challenge in her eyes. All had not been forgotten apparently. Though she hadn't mentioned Geralt herself yet, it was apparent that she remembered everything and was still sore about it. Jaskier nodded, accepting with a small curl of his lips. She could be terrifying and his fate was currently in her hands, but he wasn't going to back down from this. He was made of sterner stuff than that. 

This was the first song he'd written specifically about Geralt back in the beginning. It was during that first winter in Kaer Morhen as he spent time with Geralt's brothers when he'd come up with something to promote his skills and demeanor. It spoke of Geralt as being imposing yet fair, his nobility far outweighing any fearsome appearance he may present. It was a classic song style with a lyrical and upbeat melody that dipped into brooding tones occasionally before lightening. There was light applause from the adults when he finished, but Ciri was clapping hard and bouncing in her seat. 

“Who's Geralt of Rivia?” she asked when she calmed.

There was a tense silence in the room for a moment before Mousesack spoke. 

“He's a Witcher.”

“What's a Witcher?”

Gods, what had they been teaching her? Everyone Jaskier came across knew what Witchers were. He'd already known about them himself when he was her age and he'd grown up in Modern City. But he didn't dare answer. Eist spoke up instead after exchanging a warning glance with his wife.

“They're warriors who fight monsters. They're specially trained to be stronger and faster than humans.”

“They're not human? Are they like Elves or Dwarves?”

“No,” Eist said. He shifted in his seat and Jaskier figured he was reaching out to Calanthe under the table. “They were human once, but they're mutated to become what they are. But there aren't many left. Most of them are gone now.”

“Why?”

“Because people are afraid of them,” Jaskier told her quietly. “Sometimes people just hate them for being what they are.” He could feel Calanthe's gaze but didn't dare look at her. He was chronically defiant, not suicidal.

“Well that's dumb. Who wouldn't want to hang out with a warrior who fights monsters?” It was such an innocent question. Children were a blank slate with no inherent prejudices of their own. Those were learned over time from the adults who raised them. Ciri's eyes brightened. “That man last fall. The one with the long braid who came to court. Was he a Witcher? He had yellow cat eyes like the song.”

“And how did you see this man when you were supposed to be in your rooms?” Calanthe asked with a raised brow. 

“I was watching from behind a tapestry,” Ciri said without shame. “Everybody was talking about him and I wanted to see.”

“We'll have to have a talk about privacy,” Mousesack said. 

“It was a public audience,” Ciri protested. “Loads of people where there.”

“Indeed. Corbyn is a Witcher and he was looking for work,” Calanthe admitted. “But we have no need to hire mercenaries when our knights keep our lands safe.”

Jaskier brightened at the mention of Corbyn. Calanthe might not want him here, but if he was around, maybe Jaskier would get a chance to see him. He looked at Eist to see what he thought, and the man was biting the inside of his cheek as if to keep from saying anything. He forced himself to relax when he caught Jaskier watching him and turned back to Ciri.

“Witchers can be useful,” he said. He ignored Calanthe's glare and curled lip. “But there are no monsters that require hunting right now.”  
Ciri pouted. “I want to meet one.”

There was that painful moment of silence again and then everyone collectively sighed. Jaskier felt that odd tug that had been absent since he arrived here. Destiny refused to be denied, it seemed.

“Well, it's off to bed with you,” Calanthe said with a false cheer in her voice.

“Already? But it was only one song,” she said. 

“There will be many more nights with more songs. We'll be holding a feast in four days,” Calanthe said. Eist and Mousesack looked at her in surprise. Apparently, they hadn't known about this.

“Can I come?” Ciri asked, bouncing in her seat again with excitement.

“Of course, dear. I wouldn't want you to miss Jaskier's first public performance at court.” Calanthe looked at Jaskier who stared back at her evenly. It was going to happen eventually. He'd just have to make sure he had something to wear.


	18. Picking Up Speed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joyous Friday, everyone. I hope you're all doing well.

“How many days?” Bellamy looked up from the mannequin where she was draping a shirt.

“Four,” Jaskier said, trying not to wince. “I asked if you could put something together by the end of the week and you said it was okay.”

“A week is a wee bit longer than four days,” Bellamy huffed. “You're not our only customer, you know.”

“I know, and I am greatly appreciative of all your amazing work. But this will be my first appearance at court and I can't do it wearing the same thing I've had on since I got here.”

She eyed him balefully before seemly giving up and taking pity on him. “It just so happens that the design for the first piece is more minimal than the rest. Given the scheduling,” she muttered as she pulled out a bolt of dark rose fabric brocade. It was more of a summer or autumn color than spring, but the dark copper satin she laid on top of it gave it a richness that made him hum in appreciation. 

“That's lovely,” he murmured as he ran his fingers over it.

“The cut will be simple but as a whole, it will be appropriate for the setting. We'll discuss the price for the accelerated timetable later.” 

“Of course,” Jaskier said easily. “One more thing.”

“Only one? Ohhh, you spoil us with the ease of your requests, good Sir.” 

He ignored the snark. “Do you happen to have any of that gold fabric left from the last outfit you made me?”

“Not enough for a full piece,” she said with a snort as she stared rooting around in a large chest that sat in the corner. “And I'm fairly certain you don't want to remind the queen about that night. It was quite the scandal.”

Kieran and Sadie perked up while trying to make it look like they weren't listening.

“Not for an outfit. Have any of you made toys before? Soft, stuffed ones?”

Kieran looked up from his stitching. “I used to make dolls for my little sister,” he said. 

“Have you ever made a dragon?”

Kieran blinked. “Not really.”

“Do you have an idea of what you want it to look like?” Sadie asked.

Jaskier pulled out the sketch he'd made the night before. His skills were meager at best, but the image depicted the general idea. Sadie took the sketch and bit her lip. “I think I can come up with something. I used to draw dragons all the time when I was little.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Do you have a little one at home?”

“Not exactly. I'm. . .uh.” How did he describe his current position? “I'm currently a. . . caretaker of sorts for a little girl. She's four and in desperate need of something to play with that's not a chess set or a princess doll.”

“I think we can come up with something,” Sadie said warmly. “I'll come up with a pattern and Kieran can put it together. We have some cotton batting we can use for stuffing, and adding a little lavender to it will help her sleep at night.”

Jaskier smiled again. “That would be much appreciated.”

Bellamy pulled out the scraps of golden brocade left over from the outfit she'd made for him years ago and put it on the table. “There's not much left, but that should be enough. You're lucky I still have it. Are you sure you want it to be gold? Not red or green? Golden Dragons are a myth, after all.”

The Golden Dragon scale on Jaskier's pendant hummed with warmth under his shirt. “I think toys should stimulate the imagination as much as they depict reality. The gold fabric is perfect.”

“It's not like we have any other work to do,” Bellamy grumped.

Sadie winked at Jaskier when she turned around. “We've got it,” she whispered.

Jaskier grinned and left with a bow. “Well I'll leave you to it then. Many thanks for the quick work.” 

He headed back through the city, stopping at the luthier to pick up some linseed oil for his lute and at a shop that sold soaps to pick up some fresh toiletries for his kit. There was a nice goat's milk soap scented with mint and rosemary that was strong and clean. He'd taken a lovely bath last night, but he'd left most of his soaps and oils in Essi's bathroom. He'd been so distracted when he'd packed up to leave, that he'd forgotten to get them. At least he had the shaving kit Lara had given him. 

He was nervous about the feast and he wasn't sure why. He'd performed for crowds before and the royal portion of the audience didn't bother him. He'd just have to make sure that he didn't obsess about it the afternoon before the feast. It was going to be fun. This was literally why he'd come into the Wood years ago. It was time to start plying his trade again. 

*******

Living at the palace quickly turned into a steady routine, mostly because Ciri's days were so tightly structured. After breakfast, there were lessons with Mousesack. In the afternoon after lunch, she spent time in the stables with Jacks learning about horses and riding, or worked with Danek in the courtyard as he taught her how to hold a weapon properly. The last bit gave Jaskier pause. He winced to think of Ciri's tiny hands wrapping around the hilt of a dagger. But she was surprisingly capable given her age. Eist and Calanthe would take her occasionally for a few hours, but both of them had been busy since that first day.

Jaskier spent his mornings traveling around the city, sometimes stopping off at one of the taverns for coffee. There was a lovey tea shop down in the harbor where the sailors spent their mornings. Jaskier took his notebook with him and listened to the sounds of people and crowds, soaking in the atmosphere. Listening to their tales was a goldmine of inspiration and he vowed to come back at night sometime to see if anybody was playing. The sailors from Skellige in particular offered colorful commentary that made Jaskier actually want to go to the Isles. 

In the afternoons, he'd either join Ciri or spend time in the library reading. On the third day, Vernon, the palace steward, came to find him. He was an efficient, if slightly unpleasant man. His talents must outweigh his lack of personality for Calanthe to keep him.

“Your clothing has been adjusted and laid out in your room when you're ready to bathe,” he said.

Jaskier looked up from his book and tried not to sneer back at him. The passive aggressive suggestions were already starting to get a bit old. “Thank you,” he said as he went back to reading, trying hard not to show a reaction. He'd asked if anyone in the palace could adjust garments so he could wear his turquoise outfit instead of just the green one. He had some clean shirts and small clothes now thanks to Bellamy and her staff, but he couldn't pick up his new court outfit until tomorrow. He could feel Vernon watching him. “Is there something you need?” Jaskier asked. 

“I was merely wondering if there were any other menial tasks you'd like me to perform,” Vernon said smoothly. He was talented enough to make the pleasant tone scathing.

Jaskier looked up and held his gaze. “No, that will be all.”

The man left, turning on his heel abruptly. Jaskier had seen him interact with Calanthe and Eist and his tone held much more respect, which was befitting of their rank. But there was no need for him to be such a prim ass. It was useless to complain because it was so petty. As relatively comfortable as Jaskier was here, there were things he was going to have to get use to. After he put Ciri to bed tonight, he was going out. He needed to be around strangers for a bit in a place where nobody knew him. Waiting a few minutes to make sure Vernon was gone, Jaskier went up to his room, asking one of the chambermaids to have the bath filled on the way upstairs. 

He had a quick soak and changed into his turquoise doublet and trousers, pleased that they fit reasonably well again. After dinner where he sang for Ciri again, he brought her up to bed for a bath. Mallowyn, a young woman from a noble family who had been invited to be Ciri's lady in waiting until the business with Matilda was sorted out, helped her bathe and dress for bed. Jaskier played his lute by the fire in the sitting room while Ciri got ready, thanking Mallowyn as she retired to her room across the hall. 

Ciri was in her nightgown sitting on the bed. “Tell me a story.”

“What kind of story?” Jaskier asked her as he came in and sat on the edge of the mattress. 

She thought for a moment as she slid under the covers. “Tell me about Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier felt a tug on his heart and he plucked a few strings on the lute, like he was tuning it even though it didn't need it. 

“Why do you look so sad?” she asked him.

“I. . . just some bad memories,” he said quietly.

“But Mousesack said you used to be friends with him.”

Settling on the bed beside her, he slouched down and settled himself with his lute. “Let me start from the beginning.” He looked at her for a moment. “But you can't tell your Gran that I'm telling you about him. She doesn't like him very much.” That was the simplest explanation.

“I know,” Ciri grumbled. “She wouldn't tell me anything when I asked and she got that look on her face that says not to talk about it.”

“So this will have to be our secret,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she whispered back, leaning in against his arm. 

“Well,” he said. “I was born in Lettenhove, which is far north from here. It was a Modern City full of shimmering towers of glass and steel. Everything was powered by electricity and there were vehicles that moved on their own without horses.” Jaskier strummed the lute to accompany his story. “And one day, I decided I wanted to go into the Wood.”

“Why?”

“I didn't know. My mother and I traveled there as a child and it was the last time I remember being happy.”

“Where's your mother now,” she asked, her voice getting a little tight.

“She died when I was young,” he said quietly. 

“Do you miss her?” Ciri's voice was quieter than a whisper.

“Everyday,” he said. “But I remember how much she loved me and I hold that thought in my heart.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Jaskier turned his head and kissed her temple. “It will get easier and it won't hurt quite as much.”

“Promise?”

The uncertainty in her voice made his eyes sting. He wanted to make her feel better, but he didn't want to lie to her. “It's hard to promise when I don't know what the future holds. But you have family that loves you and that will help.”

“Okay. What happened when you went into the Wood?” she asked with a quiet sniff.

“I went in by myself and the forest was thick and dark. And then I heard something in the bushes.” He lowered his voice and Ciri pulled the covers up to her chin. 

“What was it?”

“Wargs. They were huge with sharp teeth and strong legs. They chased me through the forest and I had to climb a tree to get away.

“Were you scared?”

“Definitely. I'd never been in the forest on my own, and I didn't know what to do.”

She looked up at him, confused. “But you're a grown up. Grownups know what to do.”

“Not always,” he said gently. “Sometimes we get lost. Sometimes we get confused. And sometimes we have no idea what to do when there's a problem. But that's when Geralt arrived.”

“What does he look like?”

“He has long white hair, paler than yours. And golden cat eyes that shine like the sun and reflect firelight like golden stars at night. He's tall and strong, and he helps those that need it.”

“And you needed help.”

Jaskier chuckled. “I did. Geralt saved me from the Wargs and brought me back to the city on his horse.” He didn't mention that he'd knocked Jaskier unconscious with a Witcher sign first. Jaskier hadn't actually wanted to go back, but when he'd tried to continue on by himself, Geralt had put him to sleep and delivered him back to Lettenhove instead. 

“And then what?”

“And then he left.”

Ciri sat up. “He saved you and then he _left_? What kind of hero is he?”

“A busy one who doesn't know how to deal with people very well. You see, people don't treat Witchers very well because they're scared of them. And Geralt doesn't like Modern Cities because there is no magic. He didn't know me at all but he helped me anyway and moved on. That's what he does,” Jaskier shrugged. 

“Was that it?”

“No. I saw him again because Destiny and Fate had other plans. But that's a story for another time,” he said as she settled back down and he tucked her in. 

“Awww. Just a little more?”

“Tomorrow night is the feast, but the night after, I'll pick up where we left off,” he told her. “Promise.”

“'Kay,” she said as she snuggled down in the blankets. “'M glad Geralt saved you.”

“Me too,” he said quietly as he moved toward the door and closed it behind him. 

Obviously, he was going to tell her a sanitized version of the story and there were some things that he was going to leave out entirely, but he wasn't sure how it would feel to go through all of it again. Maybe it might help. And maybe it would just depress him all over again. Geralt's absence still hurt, and just when he thought he'd moved past it, the whole thing would come up again.

Stashing his lute in his room, he headed out of the palace for the evening. He needed a drink. The city was lively this time of night with people traveling through the streets. There were members of the night watch scattered through the light crowd keeping an eye on things. Cintra was one of the tightest run cities he'd been in and things were calm and civil. There was, no doubt, an underground running somewhere beneath the surface where the underbelly of the city thrived. But he'd had no contact with it so far, much to his relief. 

There was a tavern in the Merchant Quarter with good ale and decent company, and Jaskier headed in that direction. The patrons weren't soused yet, just inebriated enough to be louder and more joyous than usual. A man was singing with the two others playing a flute and a mandolin. It was upbeat and cheerful, if not terribly in tune. But the audience didn't mind. It was exactly what Jaskier needed. Grabbing an ale from the bar, he settled at a table to listen and take in the atmosphere. The night was good. 

A hand slid along his shoulder and delicate fingers toyed with the hair at his nape as a woman leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Alone tonight?”

“So far,” he said, feeling a little giddy from the ale and the feeling of someone touching him. After weeks of traveling alone before getting to Ard Carraigh, he realized that going for too long without the touch of another person was an awful kind of torture. Back in Lettenhove, he'd never gone long without spending time with someone else whether it was spending the night or snuggling companionably with Essi. 

“Well, we'll have to fix that,” the woman said as she sat beside him, her hand not leaving his shoulder as she settled on the next stool. “I've seen you about the palace, but I don't believe we've been introduced.”

“Jaskier, my Lady,” he said as he took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. He'd seen her as well. There were often visiting nobles staying in the palace, but he didn't know who she was. 

“Amandine,” she said with a curl of her full, painted lips. Her makeup was a little overdone, but expertly applied, and the neckline of her red gown plunged indecently low. But it offered a pleasing sight and proved to be a delightful distraction. The lamplight shone on her coiffed strawberry blonde hair. 

“Charmed,” he said. “What brings you out tonight?”

“Just seeking company. Like you, perhaps.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “I must confess, I've been a bit lonely as of late.”

Amandine leaned in and laid a gentle kiss at the corner of his jaw. “I believe I can fix that as well,” she murmured against his skin.

Jaskier took a sip of his drink to calm himself. He needed to slow down a bit. This was going a bit too quickly. Jumping into bed with the first available maiden wouldn't help him get past his troubles. His head swam a bit. It was warm in here and he opened the top button of his doublet and parted the collar of his shirt. Amandine smiled again and took a sip from her goblet, toasting him with a look of promise.

“To new acquaintances.” 

“To new friends,” he said and tapped his mug against the goblet before drinking again.

*******

An hour later, Jaskier was waiting in his sitting room, nervously pacing. What was he doing? After necking a bit in the tavern, Amandine had invited him to partake in a little more of her charms back at the palace. She'd told him that they should arrive separately, as not to start any rumors, and she would meet him in his room. He'd offered to rent a room at an inn and she'd assured him that it would be far better on silk sheets in the palace, than on linens in some common inn. And it would be more exciting. 

Exciting wasn't really the word Jaskier would have used. Ciri was right down the hall. And whatever sleepy comfort had come over him at the tavern was fading as his nerves got the better of him. He'd never been this nervous before planning to meet a partner. He went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. What would Harrison think? He was stationed right outside the door. Or at least he had been when Jaskier came back alone  
.   
One of the tapestries on the wall shifted and Jaskier sucked in a breath as Amandine emerged from behind it.

“How. . ?”

She smiled at him and held up a wine bottle and two goblets. “How about a little room service?”

He went over and peered behind the tapestry but only saw a solid wooden panel. “A secret panel?”

“If you please me, I'll show you how it works,” she said with a wicked smile that sent sparks to his dick. “It's kind of a right of passage to know the inner workings of the palace, but I don't think you've quite earned it yet.”

It was a terrible line, but damned if it wasn't working. Jaskier felt no shame in falling for it.


	19. Lost and Found

Jaskier was drunk on ale and wine, and his muzzy brain just now realizing that it might have been a mistake to mix the two. His head was swimming and he was losing track of what Amandine was doing. Part of his mind was trying to tell him that there was something wrong, but every time she touched him, the sensation would scatter his thoughts. He was half undressed at this point with his doublet discarded and his shirt wide open, baring his chest. Amandine was in his lap still fully clothed and the velvet of her dress brushed sinfully against his skin. He toed his boots off before laying back and taking her with him. She wriggled to stay on top and pulled away breathlessly.

Jaskier grasped at the air trying to reach for her, feeling slightly uncoordinated as his hands fell limply to the bed. Something was actually wrong. His vision was blurred and when he tried to speak, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a uncoordinated string of sounds. Cool, gentle hands cupped his face gently.  
“It's a pity we don't have time to finish,” she said smoothly, her words holding true regret.

“Wha-?” Jaskier tried to sit up and he saw her pulling a cloth out of in inner pocket. She'd pulled away for a moment, and through the haze, he saw that all flirtation had left her face. There was an alarm bell ringing in his brain through the fog and he tried to blink the blurriness away. “Am'deen,” he mumbled. She cupped him through his trousers, making him gasp, and she shoved the wadded up handkerchief in his mouth. He hummed around it and tried to turn his head away to spit it out, but she pinned him down and wrapped another strip of cloth around his mouth and tied it off to keep it in place. 

“Hush,” she said, brushing her lips along his jaw again. 

Jaskier didn't like where this was going. They hadn't discussed any boundaries. He didn't know her well enough to let her tie him up for this, and he hated being gagged. He reached up to fumble at the fabric and huffed through his nose as she rolled him over onto his stomach, heaving against his limp, unresponsive body so he was bent over the side of the bed. 

“What's taking so long?” a strange man hissed. 

“It took longer for it to take effect and he's still awake,” she snapped, keeping her voice at a low whisper. “Help me with him.”

Jaskier whined behind the gag, struggling against Amandine's weight where she leaned down to pin him to the bed. She reached underneath him, and gripped him hard, making him breathe hard through his nose. 

“Hold still, you worthless prick,” she hissed. “This is your own fault.”

“Shut it, Ami,” the man muttered. “Let's get this done.”

Jaskier's hands were pulled behind his back and tied tightly with a thick length of rope. He tried to fight them off, but his head was still swimming. 

“For fuck's sake,” Amandine hissed. “Here. Didn't think I'd need it.”

A thick chemical smell filled the room and another cloth was pressed over Jaskier's nose. It burned and made his eyes water as his consciousness slipped until he didn't even know where he was anymore. He was barely aware of his ankles being bound before he was hauled up onto the bed and rolled up in the blanket. The movement made him nauseous, and he moaned softly as ropes were wrapped around his bundled form, trapping him inside. He twisted to keep his head free, but he couldn't move anymore and he hummed pathetically behind the gag, trying to clear his thoughts. As he was dragged to the floor, he caught sight of a third person in his wavering vision. Vernon sneered at him as he made the bed with fresh linens. When he was done, it looked like nobody had slept there at all.

“Grab his things,” the other man hissed. “It has to look like he left like all the others.” 

Amandine quickly packed up Jaskier's belongings and shoved them into his pack before shouldering it and his lute. Vernon came over and together with the other man, they picked up Jaskier's bound body and moved him toward the tapestry where Amandine had first emerged. He struggled as they entered a dark passageway, his muffled voice shrieking behind the gag. 

“For fuck's sake, why isn't he out?”

They set him down long enough for the acrid cloth to be tied over his nose, making his head swim again. Jaskier's struggles were reduced to feeble shifting inside the blanket and his voice was a quiet murmur behind the layers of cloth. He had no idea where they were taking him. What did they want? He didn't have anything of value on him besides the lute.

It got progressively colder the longer they traveled and it felt vaguely like they were headed downward. It was long enough for the two men to struggle and huff with his weight as they carried him further down. And then they stopped. But not before they started swinging him slightly.

“On three,” the strange man said before they started counting. They weren't seriously gong to. . . Jaskier screamed behind the gag as he was tossed over the edge of a precipice. He felt a brief moment of weightlessness as adrenaline flooded his system and briefly counteracted the drugs. And then he landed hard and there was a loud crack that sent a sickening shock of pain through his shoulder. He rolled and bounced over several sharp rocks until he ended up wedged between two hard objects and became stuck at an odd angle on his side. It put pressure on his chest and his most likely cracked ribs. Something hard was digging into his back and every breath hurt. His head swam again as he took a breath through the chemical soaked cloth over his nose. Jaskier called out behind the gag, whimpering quietly.

“Shit, the fall didn't kill him,” the man said from far above him.

“He'll be dead soon enough,” Amandine said. There was a thump as his pack and lute were thrown down after him. “Nobody will find him down there. Come on. Let's get Donna back into place.”

Jaskier called out again as he heard steps on rough stone and then there was silence with only the occasional drip of water echoing off the rock. He struggled and only managed to wedge himself deeper. The blackness was complete without any light breaking the inky dark in front of his eyes. Tears fell freely as he tried not to panic through the fog of drugs and chemicals. He was alone and scared and he had no idea what was happening. 

*******

Jaskier faded in and out of consciousness as the drugs moved through him. He was too scared to sing to heal himself for fear that his ribs and shoulder would heal wrong. It hurt to breathe and any movement sent sharp spikes through his chest and up his neck. His bare feet were freezing. Geralt wasn't going to save him this time. There was nothing to hunt and he had no way to locate him even if he knew he was missing. Jaskier was going to die alone in a hole and nobody wouldn't even know that he was gone. When his consciousness faded again, he didn't fight it. 

*******

“Gods, how the fuck did he get down here?” The faint voice echoed off the rocks, lifting Jaskier out of his panicked stupor.

It was quiet for a moment and he was beginning to think that he'd imagined it. He'd imagined a lot of things while laying painfully in the dark. His breaths came in short, tight rasps now. Jaskier had no idea how long he'd been down here. There was a murmured word he didn't quite understand and a glow bloomed somewhere above him. He called out weakly, the sound small and pathetic beneath the layers of fabric. 

“Did you hear that?” The voice spoke again, a little louder than before. “Jaskier!” Harrison was calling for him.

Jaskier tried to call out again, and coughed hard, making spikes of pain shoot through his chest. He whimpered pathetically, his voice trailing off in a thin whine.

“There. This way.” 

The glow got steadily brighter until he had to close his eyes against the glare. 

“Fuck,” Harrison swore. 

“Save your expletives,” Mousesack murmured. “Hang on.” 

There was a pulse of magic and then suddenly, there were gentle hands removing the fabric from Jaskier's face. When the outer layer of the gag was removed, he couldn't spit out the wad of sodden cloth in his mouth. His cheeks and tongue were too dry and even though it was pulled out carefully, it made him gag a little. He didn't have words as he let his head hang down again. 

“Easy,” Mousesack murmured as he laid one hand on Jaskier's forehead and the other on his injured shoulder. 

“We need to get him out of here,” Harrison said, anger tinging his words.

“Just a moment. There are broken things inside of him. We have to be careful. It's a miracle he's still alive at all.”

Jaskier huffed quietly, his voice coming out as a whisper. 

“I'm going to teleport you out,” Mousesack told him quietly. “It may feel a bit odd, like when I brought you to the palace.”

Jaskier didn't have the breath to tell him that he'd be unconscious before he they got there. At this point, it would be a blessing. As the world shimmered around them, he let the quiet darkness of unconsciousness take him again and hoped he wasn't dreaming about being rescued.

*******

The evening sun was setting over the camp, the rays of the waning sunset shining through the trees like shimmering bars of light reaching out before they faded completely into the night. The smell of wood smoke and fallen leaves tickled Jaskier's nose as he sat by the fire. He couldn't quite remember what he'd been doing, but he knew it wasn't comfortable. So he let it go and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. Roach nickered softly from nearby as she nibbled on the leaves of a nearby bush.

“He'll be back soon,” Jaskier assured her. And as if he'd been announcing his arrival, a branch snapped at the edge of camp. Geralt came forward into the edge of the firelight with a stricken expression on his face. 

“What are you doing here?” he growled.

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion. “I always wait here for you.” 

Dropping the rabbit he'd been carrying next to the fire, Geralt drew his sword. “What are you? A Skinwalker, a Doppler?”

“Geralt.” Jaskier's pulse picked up. “It's me.”

“Tell me how we first met.”

“I got treed by Wargs and you saved me.”

“How many were there?”

“Four. And then I fell out of the damn tree trying to follow you when you walked away. Seriously, what's wrong?” Jaskier stood, banking on the other man hesitating to hurt him long enough for him to get closer. The Witcher eyed him warily, but made no move to strike him as he walked toward him slowly. Jaskier reached out and pushed the sword gently away with his palm on the flat of the blade. Geralt let him, moving it aside until he could finally put it down and prop it against a tree. Jaskier reached out carefully and cupped Geralt's face in his hands. 

“This isn't real,” Geralt said, his voice low and rough.

“Feels real enough to me,” Jaskier murmured. He pressed himself flush against Geralt's body, feeling the heat of him through his trousers and shirt. Geralt's arms came around him, holding him tightly, like he was afraid he'd get away. 

“I'm sorry,” he rumbled before kissing Jaskier roughly, the stubble on his chin and jaw rubbing coarsely against his clean shaven skin. Jaskier mewled quietly into his mouth, pressing closer and wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck. He'd missed this. It was safe and warm and he felt alive. Why did it have to end? 

“Please don't leave me again,” Jaskier said, his voice small as he buried his face in Geralt's neck. “I miss you.” Jaskier didn't want him to let go. The Witcher growled and hugged him tighter. 

It was pity this wasn't real.

*******

Jaskier woke curled on his side. He was in bed in his rooms in Cintra. Ciri lay curled up next to him on top of the covers like the morning they'd first met. Her eyes were red and swollen and when she saw he was awake, she started crying again. Reaching out, he brushed the tears away with his thumb. 

“It's alright,” he said, his voice dry and croaking. He swallowed roughly.

“Are you hurt?” she asked quietly through the tears. 

Jaskier took a deep breath and was rewarded with a pain free breath. Whatever had been broken seemed to be healed now. His body was limp with fatigue and his muscles felt oddly tight, but it didn't hurt anymore. He wasn't sure if he'd done it in his sleep or if Mousesack had helped. He supposed it didn't matter.

“I'm okay,” he said.

Ciri whimpered and crawled closer, pressing into his chest and crying quietly. 

“Shhh. It's alright. I'm alright,” he murmured as he smoothed a hand over her hair and curled around her. 

The bedroom door opened and Mousesack came in. Morning light was streaming into the room, but Jaskier had no idea what day it was. Calanthe entered the room behind him. The queen looked down on her sobbing granddaughter and then at Jaskier who returned her gaze tiredly, but steadily. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back from a coil of braids at the crown of her head, and her simple ochre velvet gown glimmered in the morning sun. The less formal appearance did nothing to make her seem less imposing.

“Are you always this accident prone?” she asked lightly.

“Only when there are secret doors for people to come into my room and try to . . .” He stopped and glanced down at Ciri who had quieted and seemed to be sleeping. “This is a discussion best had away from little ears,” he said softly looked back up at Calanthe. “In a secure room.”

Calanthe's gaze hardened but she nodded, gesturing behind her. Another woman Jaskier had never seen before came in. Her smile was sad, but kind as she looked at Ciri and came over to the edge of the bed. 

“Come with me, Sweetling,” she murmured. 

“Tilly,” Ciri mumbled as he let herself be picked up. “He's okay. Jaskier's okay.”

“I know, dear. Come with me now,” Tilly said as she held Ciri on her hip and carried her out of the room. 

“Could I trouble you for a glass of water,” Jaskier asked as he sat up. His throat was dry and scratchy and he felt incredibly tired. 

Mousesack poured him a glass from a carafe on the bedside table and handed it to him before moving over to the dresser and mixing things from a tray in a mortar and pestle. Jaskier sipped at the water and sighed heavily. 

“How long?”

“Just a few hours,” Mousesack said. “Ciri woke. . .abruptly. When she found your room empty, she started screaming. Once I brought you back up here, I spent the rest of the night putting you back together.” He poured the ground herbs into a mug with some water and wave a hand over it. Steam started to rise from the liquid and he swirled it a bit to cool it before handing it to Jaskier. “Drink this.”

It smelled terrible. Jaskier sipped the hot liquid and grimaced before knocking back the contents quickly. He took a mouthful of water to wash the taste away. “Oh, gods. That was foul.” 

“You'll thank me later when you're not bleeding to death internally,” Mousesack said evenly.

“How did you find me?”

Mousesack glanced at the queen and sighed quietly when she nodded. “The same way I located you in Oxenfurt. When you passed out and slept it off that first night years ago, you left several hairs on the pillow. I. . .kept them. Just in case.” 

Jaskier chuckled bitterly and it turned into a cough. He sipped more water. Vaz wasn't kidding about burning hair to keep it from being used. “I suppose I should thank you for that,” he said. “And about securing the room. Are you aware of the passage behind the wall there?” He gestured to the tapestry just as the fabric started flapping. He pressed back into the headboard in alarm only to let his breath out in a huff as Eist emerged from behind it. There was a shuffling that sounded like several other people were moving around behind him in the passage. 

“Someone's been marking off rooms,” Eist said. “And they opened up a wall below into an older part of the palace. They're sealing it off now.” He nodded back behind him before stepping fully into the room. “Good to see you in one piece,” he said to Jaskier. “Thought we'd lost you when he brought you back up here.”

Jaskier had thought he was going to die too when he'd been down in the dark. His hand started trembling and he flinched when Eist gently took the glass from him and set it aside before he dropped it. The other man looked at him gravely. 

“You have my deepest apologies,” Eist murmured. “This won't happen again.”

Jaskier nodded and folded hands in his lap, hating feeling so weak and helpless. 

“Tell me what happened,” Calanthe said, her voice lined with steel. She looked like she was ready to tear down a mountain with her bare hands. He should have been afraid, but Calanthe's smoldering anger wasn't for him. 

“I met a woman last night.”

“I'm not interested in your conquests, Bard. I'm trying to find out how you ended up down in a hole under my palace when I wasn't the one to throw you there.”

Jaskier relaxed under the wight of her ire and leaned back against the headboard. He could deal with her irritation better than his own anxieties. But it would probably be a while before he'd be able to sleep in complete darkness again. 

“I met a woman named Amandine last night,” he began again. “She approached me at a tavern in the Merchant Quarter and I met her back here.”

“Amandine Gedwyn?” Calanthe spat.

“We didn't exchange family histories,” Jaskier said, his tone dry. “I was trying to get laid.”

“You have a rather dangerous taste in bed partners, then,” she said with a sneer.

“So I've been told,” he muttered, remembering the dream about Geralt and closing his eyes. “I think she drugged me. I hadn't had that much to drink before I got back here, but my head was swimming. It got worse with the bottle of wine she brought.” He nodded at the tapestry. “She came in through the panel. Said she'd show me the hidden passages if I pleased her.”

“We need to find out how she knew about them.” Calanthe looked at Eist. “I believe she should become a permanent guest here.”

“Vernon probably showed her,” Jaskier said and Calanthe's head snapped back to him. “He showed up with some other guy. They took all my things and remade the bed.” His head had been extremely fuzzy, but that part was clear enough. “They wanted to make it look like I'd left. 'Like the other ones', they said.” He turned to Eist. “I told you his recommendations were crap. You should have a talk with Donna too. They were going to put her back in place, whatever that means.” It was the last thing he'd heard before he'd been left to die.

“Don't you worry about Miss Adams,” Calanthe said, her words biting. “She's already being shown the error of her ways.”

Jaskier didn't ask and honestly, he didn't really didn't care. They'd been planning something that involved Ciri. No matter what happened to him, he wouldn't let anyone hurt her if he could help it.

“Should I have Lord and Lady Gedwyn escorted to new quarters?” Eist asked. 

“No,” Calanthe replied, her words dripping with soft menace again. “We have a feast to prepare and it would be a shame to deny them one last meal,” she said as she looked at Jaskier with a dangerous glint in her eye. “What do you say, Bard? Are you up to being presented formally to the court as our personal minstrel tonight?”

Jaskier looked back, his own gaze hardening. He was exhausted, but if it meant he could see those assholes brought to justice, he'd push through it gladly. “I'd be honored to be presented and greet your guests with pride.”

A feral smile pulled at her lips. “Good. Stay here until then. Mousesack will provide anything you need.” With that, she swept out of the room with Eist following behind her. Jaskier slumped back against the pillows and thought about what he was going to play tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was missing Geralt so much when I wrote this chapter. It wasn't part of my initial plan, but now it is because I missed writing them together.


	20. Follow the Rats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought the last chapter was painful.

Jaskier sat in the tub behind the screen in his room and let the heat soak into his bones. He shivered and it wasn't because he was cold. There was still light coming in through the window which was a small blessing. He wasn't so paranoid that he'd lit a lamp yet, but he'd been tempted earlier. 

The new outfit from Bellamy was laid out on the bed and his boots had been polished until they were supple and new looking. She'd no doubt been irritated that he hadn't come to pick it up himself, but Calanthe had been adamant that he not leave his rooms today. They were keeping his rescue a secret and helped spread the rumor that he'd left in the night like the previous bards that Ciri had scared away. Jaskier was fine with that. 

If he hadn't wanted to see the look on Lord and Lady Gedwyn's faces so badly, he wouldn't want to leave these rooms for at least a week. But he wanted that flush of petty satisfaction when they realized that their plans had been ruined. Whatever they were. Initially, Ciri was going to be presented to the court as well in one of her first public appearances, but that had been postponed for now. She'd stay up here with Tilly during the feast and as soon as Jaskier was done with the charade in the hall, he was coming back up here too.

The door opened and Ciri burst in. “Are you ready yet?” she asked excitedly. 

Jaskier fumbled in the water, wishing that there were more bubbles. He moved forward so he was kneeling against the wall of the tub so it covered him. 

“It's rude to walk in on someone when they're in the bath,” he said, trying to sound stern. 

“Why?”

“Because it's not proper.”

“I know what a penis looks like.”

“ _Ciri!_ ,” Jaskier sputtered, at a loss for words as he tried to bite back a laugh.

Her wicked smile that said she knew exactly what kind of reaction that statement would get. He tried smother his own smile and gave up. 

“Alright, you imp. Since you're here anyway, that package is for you,” he said, nodding at the bed.

There was an oddly shaped paper parcel sitting next to his clothes. He wished he'd had a chance to find a prettier looking package for it, but the gift itself would have to be enough. Ciri went over and put her hand on the paper but didn't unwrap it.

“What's it for?”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not my birthday yet,” she said, looking back at him with a look of doubt. “And it's not Solstice.” 

“I was just thinking about you. It's something to keep you company when I'm not there.”

Her expression became panicked. “Are you leaving?”

“What? No, no, no,” he said as he snagged a towel, getting out of the bath and holding the fabric up awkwardly while trying to keep himself covered. He pulled a robe on over it, hating the way the fabric caught on his wet skin, but wanting to be covered for this conversation. He fumbled the tie closed and knelt at her side, reaching up to put her hands gently on her shoulders. “I'm not going anywhere, but I'm not with you every part of the day. I just thought. . .I'm sorry you thought I was leaving, even for a moment.”

“I knew you didn't go,” she said with a sniff. “You wouldn't just leave.” 

“Never,” he said, doing his best to hide his dismay when he felt that odd tug in his gut that said he was inadvertently lying. She leaned forward and hugged him, heedless of how his wet hair dripped onto her dress. He held her until she let go before nudging the package closer to her. She took it and carefully pulled away the paper to reveal the stuffed dragon inside. Sadie had outdone herself on the design and Kieran's stitching was excellent. They'd even embroidered some green cat eyes onto it, giving it a wise gaze. 

“A dragon,” Ciri breathed, holding it at arms length for a moment before hugging it tightly. “I love him.” 

Jaskier felt the pendant warm against his skin as Ciri leaned in and hugged him again. He could smell the lavender in the stuffing that gave the toy a sweet, floral scent. 

“Now,” he said gently. “Can I have some privacy to dress for tonight?”

“Why can't I go?” She grumped as she stepped back and clutched the dragon to her. 

“It's going to be boring,” he told her, making a face. “You wouldn't like it.”

“But you're going to sing and I'll miss it.”

“I'll sing any song you like, just for you. But tonight is special for your grandmother.” Calanthe was going to skewer the Lord and his wife that had tried to murder Jaskier along with the steward who had helped them.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “But I'm going to the next one,” she declared with her head held high. 

The door opened and Jaskier stood, his first impulse telling him to make himself presentable even though it was a lost cause at this point. Tilly came in and blushed when she saw him with wet hair and his robe hanging loosely off one shoulder. 

“Begging your pardon,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I'll get her out of your hair.”

“It's alright.” He hadn't really had a chance to talk to her yet, but somehow, he liked her already. She was younger than he'd thought, probably no older than twenty. “Ciri was just leaving, weren't you?” he said, eyeing the little girl pointedly. 

“Tilly!” Ciri cried moving forward to push the woman out of the room. “Jaskier needs _privacy_!” 

“Since when has that ever concerned you, little peeper?” Tilly said with a smile. She exchanged a look with Jaskier. “Good luck tonight. I hope to hear you perform under. . .different circumstances.” 

“Anytime,” he said. 

Ciri looked between the two of them and frowned. “You're talking about stuff without talking about stuff,” she said. “Gran and Eist do that all the time. I'm old enough to know stuff now. You don't have to hide it from me.”

Jaskier considered it for a moment, wanting to protect her from the world but hating the thought of even lightly lying to her. He sat on the edge of the bed to get down to her eye level. “Do you want to know what tonight is really about?”

Ciri nodded. “It's not just dinner, is it?”

“No. Someone hurt me last night.”

“You weren't in your room,” Ciri said, her voice rough. She leaned back against Tilly's skit and the the woman put a hand on her hair. “But you're better now.”

“I am because I'm lucky and because Mousesack is good at his job.” More lucky than he deserved sometimes, he thought. “Your Grandmother is going to confront the people who hurt me.”

“And punish them,” Ciri said angrily.

“Yes, and punish them.” He didn't elaborate on how that would happen. He wanted to be honest, but there were limits. “They don't know that I'm okay yet. They think they got away with it. We're going to surprise them at the feast tonight. They won't like it and they'll probably get angry.”

“That's why I'm not allowed to come,” she said glumly.

“That's right. There will be other feasts held for more joyous reasons. You can go to one of those.” 

Ciri lunged forward and hugged him again. “I'm glad you're okay,” she whispered before letting go and taking Tilly's hand so she could lead her out of the room and close the door. Jaskier looked at the closed door and sighed.

“Me too, kiddo. Me too.” He got up and went over to the tapestry, flipping the fabric aside to see the bar that had been installed on the inside, keeping the door from opening. Eist had assured him that it wouldn't open unless he wanted it to. Jaskier had already checked it twice. He hoped it wouldn't become part of some paranoid, nightly ritual. Shaking his head, he pulled off the damp robe and dried off properly so he could get dressed. 

The new clothes fit well. There were a couple of spots that could be adjusted, but nothing that was truly uncomfortable. He'd go back after this was all over so they could be fitted properly. For now, they would do. He looked at himself in the mirror and was glad that he didn't look too haggard, despite his night spent tied up in a dark hole. It really was a miracle he hadn't died from the fall alone. He wondered why they hadn't just cut his throat. Swallowing hard, he regretted having the thought.

He heard Ciri greet someone brightly in the other room before there was a tap on the door. Mousesack came in and closed the door behind him. 

“I came to take you down to the hall. But before we go, be aware that tonight may not go the way you expect.”

“What do you mean?”

“How familiar are you with court intrigue?”

“As a theory or in practice?” Jaskier asked warily.

“Either.”

Jaskier sighed. “A little of both. Modern cities may have different trappings and accessories, but the elite tend to screw each other over the same way regardless of the setting.” He'd grown up in a wealthy household in Lettenhove and he'd been forced to attend company functions many times. They weren't much different than feasts and festivals in the Wood. They just had electricity and more indoor plumbing. 

“Indeed. The problem with rooting out spies is that you're never quite sure you get them all. But spook them and they may lead you to more. The best way to find the hole in a sinking ship is to follow the rats that are trying to escape.” Mousesack's lip curled in distaste. “I dislike subterfuge on principal, but it can be useful on occasion.”

“She's not going to have them arrested in front of everyone, is she?”

“No. Though she did tell me to let you know you can rub their failure in their faces as much as you like.”

That could be fun, though it wouldn't be as satisfying. “What if they do something because they panic? Won't cornering them make them do something rash?”

“Perhaps. It's always a gamble. But the guards are prepared for every eventuality. Calanthe's father was betrayed by a close friend when she was a child and he was nearly assassinated. She's taken a great deal of precautions since then.”

Not enough to keep Jaskier from nearly dying, he thought. But he supposed this was the best he could expect for now. “Who's watching Ciri?” Jaskier asked. He wasn't going anywhere until he was sure she would be safe. 

“Harrison and Danek will stay up here.”

“What about David?”

Mousesack's lips thinned. “He's being watched.”

“Okay. Is there anyone else I should be wary of? Mallowyn?” Jaskier hadn't seen her since he'd woken up. He liked her and it hurt to think that she could have been part of this.

Mousesack sighed. “She's not under suspicion. She's in the hall right now with her father.” 

“Anything else?”

“Stay on the dais tonight instead of moving around the room. Calanthe will announce you herself before you go out. Olaf will stay near you and Jacks will be with the guards ringed around the perimeter of the hall. Carter is mingling on the floor tonight with his brother. If anything untoward happens, stay with Olaf. He'll come to you and get you out of the way.”

“You think it will come to that?” Jaskier was starting to second guess this whole thing. 

“Probably not. There's a reason they left you in the dark to die instead of cutting your throat first.” 

Jaskier's hand reflexively went to the collar of his doublet. 

“Forgive me for begin blunt,” Mousesack said gently. “But they're cowards. I doubt they'll move openly against the queen tonight. They have too many things in play to risk exposing themselves now.”

“What did Donna say?”

“It's better you don't know. If the queen had a choice, she would have kept you out of this.”

Jaskier blinked. “Did she know about all of this _before_ now?”

“Time is running short,” Mousesack said, dodging the question. “Are you ready?”

“As I'll ever be.” Jaskier had been warming up and singing quietly in the bath, pleased that his voice was no worse for wear after his ordeal.

“One last thing.”

“Only one?”

“The queen asked that you every song you know about the White Wolf.”

“Really?” Jaskier's brows rose. “Why?”

“Because the more they think about Geralt being angry, the more nervous they'll be. You are the White Wolf's bard after all.”

“But I haven't seen him in almost three years.” And it hurt to think about him.

“They don't know that. Come with me.” 

Jaskier took out his lute, leaving the case where it was and followed Mousesack out of the room. Ciri and Tilly were gone now, probably off to her rooms. They headed through the halls and down the stairs toward the great hall. Jaskier could hear the murmur of people as they got closer. The crowd seemed to hush as they walked through the large entry way and the huge double doors as Calanthe announced him. Mousesack peeled off as they entered and headed along the outside of the room. Calanthe and Eist watched Jaskier approach. He came to a stop before the head table and gave them a low, elegant bow.

“Your Magesties,” he said, pitching his voice to carry throughout the room. “It would be my greatest pleasure to perform for you this evening.”

Calanthe nodded and the crowd murmured as he ascended the stairs and took his place to one side of the head table. Standing on the dais meant he was nearly a head above the crowd and it noted his status within the court. Most didn't have this privilege and several of the nobles eyed him with envy. He immediately launched into 'The Howl of the White Wolf,' letting his voice ring out in the large, vaulted room. The lute was loud and clear like it had been hooked up into an amplifier. 

Jaskier scanned the crowd, letting his eyes skim lightly over Amandine and the man at her side who was probably her husband. He'd never gotten a proper look at him. She was clutching at the man's arm, her eyes wide and confused. Jaskier thought about smirking, but decided to pay her no mind instead, smiling for the crowd brightly as he played. Better to ignore her than acknowledge her at all. 

Applause rang out when he finished, making his smile deepen. After pausing briefly to accept the praise, he started in on his most catchy song, the one Geralt complained about the most. Jaskier always grinned when he griped about people throwing pennies at him. The musicians who had been playing before he arrived moved closer on the stairs below him and joined in and soon everyone was clapping and singing along. 

Jaskier let the voices of the crowd boost him as he put his heart into the words. He may not be with Geralt now, but that didn't mean he didn't love him anymore. He went through every song he'd written about Geralt and Witchers, including 'Sunshine at Midnight' and 'The Wolves of Kaer Morhen.' He paced his performance with faster songs and slower ones, building until he sang an encore of 'The Howl of the White Wolf' before bowing to the crowd. The roar of appreciative voices and applause was like a drug, but not like the one that had slipped to him last night. It was invigorating and made his heart soar. 

The tingle of his magic rippled along his skin and he saw Mousesack eyeing him from a group of people on one side of the room. But Jaskier didn't care. _This_ was why he'd come into the Wood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Olaf beckoning to him. Jaskier gave one more deep bow to the head table before taking his leave. The musicians started playing again and the crowd settled, some of them wandering away as the night began to wane. Jaskier headed out a side door where Olaf stood just out of sight of the crowd. The other man threw an arm around his shoulders as he came out into the hallway and they headed away from the banquet hall.

“That was quite the performance, laddie,” Olaf said. “Where have you been hidin' yourself away? Figured your name would be ringing around all the taverns with a set of pipes like that.”

“I took a break for a while,” Jaskier told him, not wanting to elaborate as they moved along and came to a deserted section of the palace he'd never been in before.

“Fair enough.” He leaned heavily on Jaskier suddenly.

“Are you alright?” he asked him.

“Just a wee bit ta drink,” Olaf slurred, turning his head and huffing in his ear. “We've company. Stick with me.” Raising his voice, he started stumbling a bit and slurring drunkenly as he sang a few bars from one of Jaskier's songs. “Catchy, that,” he mumbled.

Jaskier's heart started to trip in his chest as he held his lute in one hand and helped keep Olaf upright. Knowing that he wasn't actually drunk didn't make him feel any better. 

“Go to bed, you fucking drunk,” David said as he stepped out of a doorway. “This doesn't have to involve you.”

“Fuck off, Dav.” Olaf lurched to one side, putting more space between Jaskier and David and keeping himself in between them. 

“Pathetic,” David muttered. “You should have left when you had the chance.” He drew a dagger and lunged, the movement fluid and frighteningly fast.

“Fuck!” Jaskier was shoved away he stumbled back out of the way and clutched his lute as the two men started dancing around each other with their daggers drawn.

“You've been holdin' back when we spar, ya fuck,” Olaf said as he lunged and twisted away out of range of David's knife. It was a fairly wide corridor, but the space was still limiting. 

Jaskier backed up, clutching his lute to his chest. He wondered if he should run or stay with Olaf. He wasn't doing much good here and if Olaf fell, there would be no one between him and David. But before he could decide, an arm snaked around his throat, cutting off his air as something sharp sank into his back under his ribs on the right side. He gasped wordlessly as the sharp slice of it stole his breath. 

“I told them they should have just stabbed you,” Vernon's voice hissed in Jaskier's ear before he was released to sink to the floor. The lute tumbled from his hands and hit the floor with a light, hollow thunk.

Jaskier's consciousness wavered as he grasped weakly at his back, whimpering as the pain intensified when his fingers found the wound. Was this what Vaz had felt when he'd been injured? Jaskier's hand came away slick with far too much warm blood. He sang slowly as he slumped against the wall. He barely heard the rasp of Olaf and David's knives slipping against each other and the sound kept getting farther away. He'd ruined Bellamy's work. She'd be so annoyed that he hadn't even had the new outfit for a day before he'd stained it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't rely on cliffhangers as a rule. That's just the way the chapters work out sometimes.
> 
> I'm torn between evil laughter and feeling bad that you all have to wait two days for a resolution. 
> 
> (Hehehehe. . .awwww.)


	21. A Glimpse of Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Weekend, everyone.

Jaskier lay curled by the small fire as the wound in his back continued to bleed. The camp was damp and cold this time, making him shiver. Geralt looked up from where he was sharpening his sword on the other side of the small fire, his expression pinching in distress as he set everything aside and shifted quickly around the weak flames to get to him. 

“What have you gotten yourself into now?” he rumbled as he checked Jaskier for injuries. He hissed angrily when he found the knife wound and pressed his hand over it.

Jaskier moaned, his voice cutting off in a gasp as the pain sharpened, lancing through his side and up his back to his shoulder.

“Sing,” Geralt urged.

“Wha-?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt carefully maneuvered him until he was half in his lap. It hurt but at least it was warmer. “Sing and fix this,” Geralt growled.

“Why?”

The Witcher frowned. “Because you need to live.”

“Why?”

“For fuck's sake,” Geralt muttered as he tried to stop the bleeding. “Don't be dramatic, Bard.”

“Sorry. I thought you wanted life to take me off your hands.”

Geralt's face crumpled as he looked down at Jaskier's face, his expression anguished. “Not like this,” he murmured, his voice breaking. He curled down over him until his forehead rested against Jaskier's. His pale hair feathered down around Jaskier's face like a curtain. “Don't. . .I don't. . .” he huffed out a frustrated breath. “Please.”

Jaskier hated hearing him sound to broken. It hurt more than the stab wound did. He started singing about wounded hearts mended by time and space, his voice soft and a bit tight with pain. It came out more maudlin and sad than he intended and he felt tears wetting his cheeks. But they weren't his own. 

Jaskier woke with a gasp, his eyes snapping open. He was laying in the hallway in the Cintran palace.

“Fuck!” Eist reared back from where he'd been leaning down over him. “You're alive.” He visibly made an effort to calm himself before cautiously reaching out and prodding at Jaskier's back. His fingers slid into the hole in the fabric to touch his bare skin. “You're not wounded anymore.”

Jaskier just lay there blinking up at him. “Uh. . . sorry?”

Eist frowned and sat back. “This is what you meant. About your magic.”

“Yeah.” Jaskier stayed where he was, hardening his expression and feeling a hollow sense of calm smooth over his fluttering heart like a barrier keeping the panic away. “She used me as bait.” 

“It was expedient.”

“Sure. I guess making it happen isn't the same as letting it happen, then.”

Eist had the grace to look uncomfortable before he schooled his expression again. “You're alive, aren't you?”

Jaskier snorted. “No thanks to you.” 

Eist didn't reply as he stood and offered him his hand. It was stained with blood. Jaskier took it and let the other man haul him to his feet. He was intact, more or less, as was his lute where it sat against the wall at his feet. He leaned down to retrieve it and noticed the rest of the hallway for the first time. The fight was over. David lay crumpled on the floor nearby with a pool of blood spreading slowly beneath him, and Vernon's throat had been cut so deep, he'd nearly been decapitated. Jaskier swallowed and looked away as he felt his gorge rise. He whispered a song to himself, willing the nausea to fade. It didn't help.

“Fuck, what are you doing on your feet, lad?” Olaf came around the corner with Mousesack at his heels. 

“What happened in the banquet hall?” Jaskier asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Mousesack said. “The feast will go on for some time yet, though it is starting to wind down a bit.” He pushed forward and put a hand on Jaskier's shoulder. “Come back upstairs.” He steered him down the hall past David's body and around another corner so they could head back towards his rooms. 

“Was it a success, then?” Jaskier asked bitterly, trying to stay angry so he wouldn't dissolve into tears. He wasn't sure if they'd be for his experience in the hallway or the dream about Geralt weeping.

“I told you it wouldn't go the way you expected.” He didn't sound happy about it, which was small comfort in the wake of what had just happened.

“Jaskier paused at the foot of the last flight of stairs. “Do you know any cleaning cantrips or something like that?”

“My magic is more than a mere _cantrip_ ,” Mousesack said, sounding slightly offended.

Jaskier stared at him, his expression flat. “I need to clean up.” The fabric of his doublet was stiff and heavy with sticky blood and it clung to his skin uncomfortably.

“You can heal a fatal wound with complex magics, but can't clean a scrap of fabric?”

“No,” Jaskier said, holding his gaze steadily. He was quickly losing what little patience he had. “I don't want Ciri to see the blood.”

Mousesack's lips thinned and he muttered something under his breath while moving his fingers in an odd pattern. The fabric along Jaskier's back cooled before warming against his skin again. But it felt less heavy than before. He didn't bother to check to see if it worked.

“Thanks,” Jaskier said flatly before ascending the stairs and heading to his rooms. Harrison nodded at him where he stood outside his door. Jaskier had hoped Ciri was tucked safely in bed, but he found her curled up in one of the chairs in his sitting room. She held the stuffed dragon tightly in her arms.

Tilly gave him an apologetic look from the other chair. “She wanted to wait up for you.”

Jaskier waved it away. “It's alright. Go to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He set down his lute so he could gather the sleeping princess in his arms and carry her down the hall to her rooms. Danek nodded at him as he went in through the door, following him inside and staying in the sitting room while Jaskier went into the bedroom. Ciri stirred as he laid her in bed and tucked her in.

“Story,” she murmured.

“Tomorrow,” he told her. 

She made a discontented sound before curling into the blankets and slipping back into sleep again. He watched her for a moment, feeling a sudden burst of fury at the thought of someone wanting to harm her. Taking a deep, calming breath, he let it out slowly and retreated quietly from the room. 

“Everything alright?” Danek asked him when he saw the expression on his face.

“Just peachy,” Jaskier muttered. 

Mousesack was waiting for him in his sitting room when he came back. Harrison stood by the hearth. 

“I'd like to ask you about your music,” Mousesack said.

“It will have to wait for another time. I need a snack and a nap, not necessarily in that order.” Jaskier was suddenly tired. His magic always took a lot out of him and it left him feeling a bit weak if he didn't sleep and eat something after. “Come find me tomorrow afternoon when you're done with Ciri's lessons.” With that, he went into his bedroom and shut the door, locking it behind him. He briefly thought about unlocking it again but left it as it was. He loved Ciri but she was going to have to learn some boundaries. 

Pulling off his doublet, he slid a finger through the hole the knife had left. Bellamy would be pissed. Maybe he'd see If one of the palace seamstresses could fix it. Or maybe he'd ask Tilly if she had any skill with a needle. He set it aside and pulled off his shirt before standing in front of the mirror. Turning, Jaskier touched the pads of his fingers to the puckered scar just below his ribs on the right side of his back.. Yet another mark to add to his collection. He was vain enough to consider asking to see if the marks could be fixed with magic, but every one of them was a memory, most of them involving Geralt. Would it be better to keep them, or wipe them away? He wasn't sure. And he definitely couldn't decide while he was in this state. 

There was a quiet knock on the door and Jaskier sighed. He thought about ignoring it, but figured they'd just keep knocking if he didn't answer. He pulled on the clean robe that was hanging on the screen and opened the door. Harrison stood on the other side.

“Are you going to stab me too?” Jaskier asked, trying to be flippant but just sounding tired. 

“Hadn't planned on it,” Harrison said with a raised brow. “Do you want me to?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and noticed the tray of bread, roast meats, and a variety of cheeses on the table in the sitting room. His stomach gurgled menacingly. Apparently the snack would have to come first. He came out and saw there there was also a large mug of tea and three pretty little cakes on a small, decorative plate.

“Mallowyn just brought these up. She felt bad that you had to leave without getting a chance to eat. I tested everything and it's fine.”

“Tested?” Jaskier gaped at him. “For what? Poison?”

Harrison shrugged. “It's been an interesting night. And I'll never hear the end of it if I let you die after surviving an attempt on your life.”

“Two.”

“Two what?” Harrison asked him.

“Two attempts.” Jaskier said grimly. “Vernon tried to stab me downstairs earlier,” he said. He didn't tell him that he'd been successful.

“For fuck's sake,” Harrison muttered. “Sorry. I would have been there, but-”

“It's fine,” Jaskier said as he waved it away and slumped into one of the chairs. “You were here for Ciri and she's far more important.” He piled some meat and cheese on a piece of bread and ate without tasting it. 

“He'll suffer for it,” Harrison assured him, his expression hard. “The queen isn't exactly gentle with traitors.”

“He's dead, so it doesn't matter.”

“Good.”

“David too.” Jaskier told him, feeling extremely tired as he sipped the tea and contemplated the tiny cakes that had been modeled to look like jeweled fruit.

“Shit.” Harrison hissed and turned away.

“Did you know him well?” 

“Well enough that I never thought he'd be involved in something like this.”

“I'm sorry,” Jaskier said quietly.

“Don't be. He made his choice.” Turning back around, Harrison came over and knelt next to Jaskier's chair, looking at him earnestly. “My loyalty is to the queen, her consort, and the princess above all, but I swear to you that your safety is my priority until I'm given other orders.” 

“You don't have to do this. I'm the court bard, not a noble or a member of the royal family.” Jaskier swallowed and felt oddly uncomfortable.

Harrison laughed lightly. “You are far more than that, though I doubt you can appreciate why.”

“What do you mean?”

“The princess has not smiled this much in weeks. Her parent's deaths hit her hard. It's been hard on everyone. And the queen. . .” He sighed. “The palace has not felt this light in some time.”

“With the exception of the spies and assassins, you mean,” Jaskier said dryly.

Chuckling wryly, Harrison sat in the other chair. “There is that. And again, I'm sorry that you became the target of their ire so quickly. I imagine having Donna sacked made them worry about your influence. They were probably trying to get rid of you before your position here solidified.”

Jaskier picked up one of the cakes that had been molded into the shape of a glittering strawberry. The frosting was delicate and sweet, melting on his tongue lightly as he bit into the decadent cake beneath. He hummed in pleasure, nudging the plate toward Harrison. The other man shook his head.

“I shouldn't. I shouldn't even be talking to you like this, really.”

Jaskier swallowed so he wouldn't be talking around a mouthful of crumbs. “I've nearly died twice in the last twenty-four hours, eat a damned cake,” he said. 

“That's hardly something to celebrate.”

“It's a new record, and it's fairly impressive, even for me,” Jaskier said as he licked a bit of frosting off his thumb. “You may regret offering to look after me.”

Harrison's mouth quirked as he finally reached forward and plucked up a miniature glittering peach. He exhaled through his nose and hummed softly as he took a bite and savored it slowly. Jaskier smiled and grabbed the last cake shaped like a ripe plum. It was as delicately decadent as the strawberry.

“Fuck, I've always ignored these because I thought they were actually fruit,” Harrison said as he licked his lips and leaned his head back against the chair. “These are what I should have been nicking from the kitchens all these years.”

“How long have you been in the palace?” Jaskier cupped the mug in his hands and found he didn't want to go to bed just yet. Talking was helping to keep him calm. The events from earlier hadn't really hit him yet, and he was procrastinating.

“Nearly fifteen years. I was squire to King Roegner at first and now I'm a member of the Queen's Guard. I've been watching over Ciri for a couple years now.”

“I'm glad you're here,” Jaskier said, feeling sleep creeping up on him despite his attempts to stay awake. 

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Jaskier said with a yawn. 

“Go to bed. I'll be right here.”

Jaskier saluted him with his mug as he stood and took it into the bedroom with him. He cursed quietly and went over to check the door behind the tapestry before taking off his boots and trousers. Leaving the robe on, he crawled beneath the sheets and hoped he wouldn't have nightmares. 

*******

Breakfast was fairly normal and Ciri asked questions about the feast that they all answered politely before she went off to lessons with Mousesack. 

“You're sturdier than you appear,” Calanthe said when the two of them were gone. 

“That's me. Full of surprises,” Jaskier said, his tone flat.

Calanthe's eyes narrowed but she didn't call him on his tone. “Regretting taking the position here?”

“It's not like I answered an ad. What would you have done if I said no?”

“There are dozens of minstrels that would love to be in your shoes,” she said.

“But you didn't ask any of them. You're stuck with me because Destiny is a bitch.” Jaskier wanted to leave the table, feeling too irritable to continue this conversation, but he knew better than to get up before he was dismissed. 

“Would you rather be somewhere else?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “No. I'm not leaving Ciri unless she wants me to go.” He eyed her balefully. “You could have told me you were using me as bait last night.”

“Would you have agreed?”

“It doesn't matter now. But I could have at least been more prepared. I didn't even have my knife on me.”

Calanthe chuckled. “Would you even know how to use it?”

“Well enough,” he told her, feeling irritated with himself. His knife skills were somewhat sub-par, but not for lack of skill and training. He just hated the thought of cutting someone. Unless it was in defense of another. He seemed to have less qualms about using a blade to save a friend. He'd seriously contemplated slitting Preston's throat in Novigrad when he'd found him standing over Vaz in an alley a few years ago. 

Calanthe and Eist exchanged a glace before getting up from the table. 

“What about Amandine and her husband?” Jaskier asked her, making no move to get up himself. 

“They won't be seen at court again,” she said evenly.

“That's it?”

“Did you expect a public beheading last night?” she asked sweetly. “I'm not in the habit of airing my dirty laundry in front of others.”

“You didn't know they were involved, did you?” Jaskier said, trying not to wince as her expression darkened. 

“Leave it, Bard,” Eist said as he put a hand on his wife's arm. Calanthe stared at Jaskier for a moment before slipping away from Eist's touch and leaving the room. Eist eyed Jaskier. “You tread dangerous ground. Were we not alone, she'd have made an example of you no matter how much Ciri loves you,” he said, sounding tired. “It's difficult to spot those who are genuine and those who are manipulating you when you're grieving.”

Jaskier regretted what he'd said, though he still felt at least partially justified. Of course the queen had been distracted. It was probably the only reason Donna had been put in her post as Ciri's lady's maid. And Vernon probably wouldn't have slipped through if she'd been paying more attention. 

“Just promise me you won't dangle me out in front of traitors to lure them out again.”

“I won't promise anything,” Eist told him without a shred of remorse.

Well. At least he was honest. Jaskier watched him leave and sat for a while after they'd gone. He needed to find something to do with himself until this afternoon when Mousesack came to find him. 

He ended up retreating into the library, running his fingers over the bindings of the thick books on the shelves. Harrison was always within sight now and he hovered respectfully in a corner, keeping an eye on him, but not intruding. In one of the far corners of the room, down on a bottom shelf was an old, worn volume with a loose cover. Pulling it carefully off the shelf, Jaskier opened to see a flowery, flowing script. 

The Story of Lara Dorren and Cragen of Lod. He'd never heard of either of them but he felt he should for some reason. 

Taking the book with him, he went to the study and settled in one of the deeply cushioned window seats. He sat absorbed in the book which was full of beautifully illuminated manuscript pages, oblivious to the passage of time. Sometime later, the sound of little feet altered him to Ciri's arrival just before she crawled up onto the seat beside him.

“What's that?” she asked looking down at the book.

“A story about an Elven Sorceress and a Human Mage,” he said. 

Ciri squinted at it. “How are you reading it? The letters look funny.”

Jaskier looked down at the page and frowned. The letters blurred slightly until they turned into gibberish. He blinked trying to make sense of what he was seeing. 

“Interesting that you would choose that particular book,” Mousesack said from the doorway. “It's written in Elder.”


	22. Skills and Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all doing well. I had a great weekend and I'm having a fantastic day.

Jaskier looked at Mousesack and then at Ciri. “I like the pictures,” Jaskier said as he flipped through to one of the larger images.

“They're pretty, I guess,” Ciri said. “But kind of boring.”

“You'd best get to lunch then,” Mousesack said. “Sir Danek will take you.”

Ciri looked up at Jaskier. “You're not coming?”

Mousesack spoke before Jaskier could reply. “Jaskier and I will be taking lunch in here today. You go spend some time with your grandparents.”

Ciri pouted a bit, but got down and went out of the room, reaching up to grasp Danek's hand as she went by. The large man curled his fingers carefully around her delicate hand and allowed himself to be led to down to the dining room.

When they were alone, with the exception of Harrison lingering outside the door, Mousesack turned one of the large chairs around and settled in front of Jaskier. “You read Elder Speech?” he asked, the inflection of his words changing slightly. 

“Apparently. I can speak it too if I've been using magic or I hear it,” Jaskier replied in Elder before looking down at the page again. “But the words have gone fuzzy now and I can't read it at the moment.” He closed the book and set it carefully aside as he focused on his words and shifted back into Common. “So what did you want to talk about?” 

They paused for a moment as two of the house servants brought in a trays with plates of tiny sandwiches, fruit, nuts, and mugs of light ale. 

“Where did you study?” Mousesack asked him once they were alone again.

“The University of Lettenhove.”

Mousesack frowned at him. “Where did you study _magic_?”

“I didn't,” Jaskier told him, fully knowing what he'd meant the first time. He took a bite of cucumber and herbed cream. “It just happens. I only found out about it a few years ago. I've been practicing a bit, but most of it comes instinctually.”

“Who were your parents?”

“Does it matter? They're dead.” Jaskier suddenly didn't want to talk about this. He thought they were going to discuss magic. His family was off the table for now. Taking a large gulp of ale, he washed down the sandwich and grabbed a handful of nuts, munching on the salty, roasted mix. He didn't know what Calanthe would do if she found out he was an Elf. It was dangerous to hide it because it may come out eventually, but he wasn't ready to divulge the information.

“Magic is often passed down through generations.” Mousesack studied him for a moment. “I've never come across someone with your skills before,” he said. When Jaskier didn't comment, he tried something else. “When I healed you the other night, I saw your scars. You have several that whisper of violence and fear.”

“And I just got a new one last night.” Jaskier shrugged, not wanting to tell him how he got them. “When I heal myself, it always leaves marks. Like it just speeds up the healing process instead of making it like it never happened. Is that weird?”

“Hmm. It's hard to say. Chaos can be unpredictable and manipulating it requires both skill and intuition.” Mousesack crossed one leg over the other as he perused one of the plates and selected something that looked like chicken salad. “It's possible that you could hone those skills with training. Have you ever healed another person?”

“Not without hurting myself. I can't. . .remake things or make the wounds go away. I helped someone who was dying once and stabilized them, but it took a lot out of me. I didn't even realize what was happening while I was singing. They had to take my lute away and I ended up passing out.” He was wary of telling the other man about channeling lightning with his voice. It wasn't something he wanted to experiment with. And he made no mention of reviving Geralt. He wasn't sure how to describe it, but he was fairly certain it hadn't been his own magic he'd been channeling. 

“There is always a cost.” Mousesack said.

“Yes, I've been told it has to be paid for, but I'm not sure how I'm doing that when I heal myself.”

“There are other ways, most of them nefarious or illegal. Though I don't think you're employing any of those methods.” Mousesack's expression turned solemn. “Have you ever consciously used your magic to influence others?”

“What?”

“Have you ever intentionally used your music or your voice to change the way others feel or act?”

“No. I don't even know how to do that.” Jaskier felt a soft hum against his skin and he frowned. It wasn't the same as when Yennefer and Triss had tried to look into his mind, but it still felt mildly invasive and he fought not to itch. “What is that? What are you doing?”

Mousesack blinked. “You can feel that?”

“It's hard not to. I can feel every time you or anyone uses magic. If I'm familiar with the person and know what their magic feels like, I can usually tell who it is.”

“Without a ritual or spell?” He hummed thoughtfully when Jaskier nodded. “That's an uncommon talent. Few are that sensitive. And you say you're from Lettenhove?” His brow raised. “I find it hard to believe that such a skill comes from a Modern City.”

“I lived in the city until a few years ago, but I wasn't born there. I'm told my parents were from the Wood originally. I barely remember my mother, and I never met my father.” And he realized with dismay that he didn't even know his name. Filavandrel had known his parents but didn't tell him much.

“Pity. I would have liked to know who they were.”

“Me too,” Jaskier muttered. He picked up a sandwich that had some sort of spicy filling, but he just nibbled at it. “Are you really worried that I'm going to turn against the queen or hurt someone?”

“The question had to be asked.” 

“Alright,” Jaskier sighed and took a full bite, focusing on the burn of spices along his tongue. The taste reminded him of the stew Eprema, the Baroness of Hamm, had made for him once. Washing it down with a sip of ale, he regarded Mousesack evenly. “I have a question for you. If you had some of my hair and can use it to track me, did you use it to find me and Geralt when we left Cintra after the betrothal?”

Mousesack's expression turned guarded. “Why?”

“Just wondering if you were tracking us so she'd know where to send the assassins,” Jaskier said casually as he popped the last spicy bite in his mouth. 

“They weren't necessary since you were leaving. Once you entered Brokilon, we figured you were done for and I stopped watching you.”

It was on the tip of Jaskier's tongue to ask him not to track him in the future, but knew it would be a wasted effort. Instead, he sipped his ale and watched the Druid calmly. Those who didn't know him often assumed he didn't know how to sit quietly. But years of practice while he'd tried his best not to be noticed at company functions in Lettenhove made it fairly easy.

“I am surprised that you made it out of the forest unscathed,” Mousesack said conversationally. “Eithne isn't kind to visitors. I'm curious as to how you made it out alive.”

“Keep wondering,” Jaskier said evenly. He trusted Mousesack well enough, but he wasn't going to tell him absolutely everything. What he'd seen and experienced in Brokilon was very personal and not completely his to share.

“Fair enough,” the other man conceded easily. 

The conversation turned to more mundane things as Jaskier told him about some of his experiences while traveling. By the time they'd finished the sandwiches, Jaskier was calmer and a little less guarded. Mousesack excused himself to attend to some business and told him that Olaf wanted to see him in the training yard. Jaskier's lips thinned, knowing what the man probably wanted but not knowing how to get out of it. 

Taking the book to his room, Jaskier set it carefully on one of the empty shelves in the bedroom. Then he opened the wardrobe and pulled his knife out from the pack sitting at the bottom before heading down to the training yard. Olaf was leaning against the wall of the yard next to one of the benches, casually flipping a knife from one hand to the other. When he caught sight of Jaskier, he twirled the blade and slid it cleanly into the sheath at his belt. 

“There you are, lad,” Olaf said with a smile. “You look no worse for wear.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I'm fine.”

Olaf's expression fell. “You toppled like a fucking felled tree last night. Thought he'd done for you. How'd he miss?”

“He didn't,” Jaskier said quietly. “But I'm fine.”

“Alright.” Olaf dropped the subject and reached down and picked up a sheathed dagger that was sitting on the bench. “You're going to learn how to defend yourself.”

Jaskier pulled his own knife from the sheath at his back and fell into an easy stance, holding the weapon up in his right hand with his chin tucked down to protect his throat. He raised his left arm up, palm turned inward, to keep the inside of his wrist out of slashing range. 

Olaf's brows went up. “Somebody's already been training you, then.”

“Several someones. And with all do respect, all of them are older and more dangerous than you,” Jaskier said as he relaxed and sheathed the blade. “I know how to use a knife. I just don't like doing it.”

“Well then,” Olaf said. “Couldn't hurt to have a refresher.”

“It wouldn't have helped last night. I didn't go to the feast armed.”

“You'll have to change that.”

“Nope.” Jaskier shook his head. “Short of having the queen order me to walk around the palace with a weapon, it's not going to happen.” He'd always had it with him on the road, but that was different. There were many uses for a blade in the wilds, but It felt wrong to carry a knife indoors. And carrying it meant he'd have to be prepared to use it. He still wasn't sure he could.

“If you're worried about the wee poppet, don't be,” Olaf said. “She knows how to use a blade.” 

“It's not that.” Jaskier winced inwardly at the thought of Ciri handling a knife, but it was a necessary evil. She needed to be competent with weapons as a ruler, like her grandmother before her. “I can use a knife to defend myself and others, but I won't carry one unless I absolutely have to. I just. . .can't.” Well, in theory, he could. But Jaskier had never actually cut anyone before and the thought made him swallow convulsively. 

Sighing Olaf nodded. “It's alright.” He came over and slung an arm over Jaskier's shoulders. “Sorry about that. Didn't mean to spook you,” he said quietly. “We'll leave the fighting to those who're more suited to it, eh.”

“Thanks.” He wouldn't apologize, but he appreciated the understanding. 

Olaf released him and slapped him on the back. “Well I'm off to other things then. You sure you'll be alright?”

“I'm good.”

“Next time you feel like heading into the city for a drink, let me know. We'll go together and I'll show you the best spots for a pint. Drinking's always better with company anyway.”

“I'll do that,” Jaskier said. He wasn't sure if he'd take him up on it or not, and he was in no hurry to go out again soon, but it was nice to have the open offer. Olaf nodded and headed into the barracks while Jaskier went back the way he came. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon reading before going down to dinner. Calanthe and Eist were elsewhere during the meal and Jaskier found himself chatting with Ciri about her lessons as Mousesack gave him an overview of what she'd been learning. And when it was time for bed, he settled on the bed next to Ciri with his lute.

“Now,” he said feeling more settled than he had all day. “Where did I leave off?”

“Geralt the Meanie left you in Lettenhove,” she said, sounding incredibly disgruntled.

“Ah, yes. But that wasn't the last time I saw the Witcher,” Jaskier said as he started playing. “My best friend got me ready to return to the Wood. She was sad to see me go, but knew how much it meant to me.” 

“What's she like?” Ciri asked, sounding excited and a little envious.

“Essi is kind and generous. And she's a Bard like me. I'm very lucky to be her friend. She bought me some new clothes and a case to protect my lute.”

“This one?” Ciri reached out and plucked one of the strings. Jaskier moved his hand and started shifting his fingers on the fret board as she strummed her fingers across the strings. She smiled and laughed at the simple, halting tune that played out.

“Actually, this one was given to me later. My first lute wasn't as good.” He started playing with both hands again as Ciri lay back. “And she booked me a place with a caravan that was traveling from Lettenhove to Oxenfurt.”

Ciri frowned. “Is that a long way?”

“It's a three month trip with wagons and I was so excited. When I showed up that first day, guess who was there signing on to be a guard?”

Ciri gasped and smiled. “Geralt,” she breathed.

“The one and only,” Jaskier grinned. “And he was _not_ happy to see me.”

“Why?” 

“Well. He hadn't come to save me on purpose. He was hunting the Wargs, so it was more like an accident.” Jaskier felt that odd sensation again that seemed to crop up every time coincidence and Destiny were involved. He tried to ignore it. “He expected me to stay safe and sound in Lettenhove. But I wasn't interested in being safe. I wanted adventure.”

“I've never been on an adventure,” Ciri pouted. “Well,” she amended. “Not here. I want to go back to Skellige. It's more fun there.”

“Adventure can be dangerous,” Jaskier told her. “Sometimes people get hurt. It's not always excitement and fun. I was nearly drowned by a Rusalka once. She sang to me with her magical voice and I went to the edge of a river.”

“What did you do?” Ciri asked, her eyes wide.

“I sang back to her and then everything went dark. Everyone thought I'd been taken to the bottom of the river, never to be seen again, but there I was, sitting at the edge of the water.” He pulled out the opal and Ciri held the shimmering stone carefully in her little hands. “She gave this to me after we, um. . . sang together.”

“It's really pretty.” She frowned as she handed the stone back. “Is a Rusalka a monster?”

“Yes. But not all monsters are bad. Many are dangerous and some are evil. But others are just trying to survive.”

“Then why do Witchers hunt them?”

“Because Witchers protect Humanity from the monsters that hurt them. They're faster and stronger, and they have special eyes to see better so they can handle the dangerous beasts that prey on people.”

“Did Geralt save you from the Rusalka?”

“No, she let me go. Geralt was the one who found me afterwards. But later, he saved me from a Werecat.” He grinned as her eyes widened again.

“A Were _cat!?_ ” Ciri exclaimed. “I thought there were only wolves.”

“Me too. He was shaped like a man with inky black fur and a big cat face.”

Ciri made a toothy grin and snapped lightly at him, curling her little fingers into claws and pawing at the air. Jaskier chuckled and played a twirling series of notes. 

“Oh, my. You are a fierce little lion cub, aren't you,” he said.

“Were you scared?”

“It was terrifying. He picked me up in his big clawed hands and carried me up into the trees.”

“Hilda's cat keeps getting stuck in trees.”

“Who's Hilda?”

“Uncle Crach's cook. It's a big fluffy gray cat and he likes to climb trees, but he doesn't know how to get down.” She giggled. “The last time, Eist lost the coin toss and he had to climb up and get him.” 

“Well, the Werecat had no trouble getting down. He left me high in the branches and told Geralt to come find me.”

“How did you get down to the ground?”

“Geralt held me close and we jumped. He cast a spell on the way down and it magically broke our fall.”

“Witchers can cast spells? Are they Druids?” Ciri asked with a frown as she yawned. Jaskier wondered if Mousesack was the only magic user she knew. 

“No, but they have their own kind of magic.” He slowed the music to a gentle melody as Ciri's eyes began to droop. 

“Did he kill the Werecat?” 

“No. He doesn't always kill monsters. No one asked him to and I wasn't hurt.”

“Really? Weird.” 

“I am pretty weird,” Jaskier admitted thoughtfully.

“No, not you, silly. Geralt.” Ciri's voice trailed off sleepily.

“He's pretty weird too. That's probably why we. . .” Jaskier trailed off as a knot started forming in his throat. Ciri had fallen asleep and he stilled the strings as he carefully stood and moved toward the sitting room. Thinking about Geralt and the the traveling they'd done together was pushing some tender buttons tonight. He still missed him. Going to his room, Jaskier quickly undressed and got into bed. But he lay awake for quite a while before he finally fell asleep. 

*******

Two weeks passed and Jaskier fell into a steady, relatively comfortable routine. His storytelling with Ciri had gotten all the way to his first stay in Ard Carraigh. She was really mad that Geralt had left him there and promised that she'd kick him in the shin if she ever saw him. She was fascinated by the idea of television and the internet and asked a lot of questions. Jaskier swore her to secrecy, fearing the queen's wrath if she ever found out that he was filling her granddaughter's head with Modern ideas. They'd have to see how long they could get away with it. 

He was currently penning a letter to Essi about everything that had been happening. He should have done it sooner, but his first week in the palace had been so fraught with disaster that he needed to compose himself before he tried to put anything to paper. He wasn't going to tell her about almost dying and he was going to keep details about Ciri to a minimum. Mousesack had offered to read it before it was sent as a concession to having the entire council pick it apart to make sure he wasn't selling secrets. Jaskier had agreed, not because he was hiding anything, but because he didn't like the idea of multiple people reading his post. It was yet another thing he was going to have to get used to. 

“Jaskier!” Ciri ran into his sitting room where he was sitting in a comfortable chair at his new desk. Mikal, the new steward, had been happy to have it brought up for him. 

“It's a little early for lessons to be over,” he said as she careened into his side. He set down his pen and put his arm around her. “What's got you so excited this morning?”

“We're going to Skellige!”

“Oh. Um. . . when?”

“They day after tomorrow!” She beamed up at him through wisps of pale hair that had escaped her braid. “Gran and Eist have been planning and they made it a surprise! I get to skip lessons and go get ready and then we're going sailing!”

“That's great,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. 

“I'm gonna go pack with Tilly!” she said, practically vibrating with excitement as she scampered out of the room again. 

“Shit,” Jaskier muttered. He'd have to make an emergency trip to the herbalist and see if they had anything that helped with seasickness. He'd thought he might have some more time to deal with this, but he supposed that he'd only been delaying the inevitable.


	23. Setting Sail

“Why do I get the feeling you're not exactly enthusiastic about this trip?” Harrison asked as he trailed Jaskier through the city streets. 

“Because you're delightfully observant even when I'm trying to hide something.”

“And here I thought being observant was an asset as a guard. Maybe I should shift careers.”

Jaskier shot him a flat look before going inside the herbalist's shop. Harrison just grinned. Jaskier sighed even as he appreciated the snark that made having a chaperon grate on him just a little bit less. Though when they were in the castle around other people, Harrison was much more reserved as was befit a guard in the queen's household. The act was a bit stifling at times, and Jaskier valued the time they were able to spend alone with nobody else around.

“Good morning, good Sirs.” The shopkeeper greeted them with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have anything on this list?” Jaskier handed to man a piece of parchment with a list of herbs Ephrema had told him about that could combat seasickness. She had a lush greenhouse garden where she grew most of her own.

“Hmm. Some of these are fairly rare, and I'm afraid we're all out of the last one. It's hard to come by. But this,” he pointed to an item in the middle. “We just received a shipment. Good quality stock.” He rummaged around in the multiple drawers lining the wall behind him before pulling out a lumpy, light brown root and setting it on the counter. “Ginger root has some remarkable properties and many uses. It will be far more effective and useful than any of these depending on what you need. What will you be using it for?”

“Seasickness. The ocean doesn't like me.”

“More like your body doesn't like the ocean,” the man said as he put the root in a small cloth bag. “Just slice this and add it to some boiling water. After ten minutes, strain out the root and pour the liquid into a mug. If you make some ahead of time, you can bring it in a water skin or bottle if you have one.” He gestured to the shelves behind him. “I have several convenient sizes available.”

“Just the ginger, thanks,” Jaskier said, not bothered that the man was trying to pad the sale. There were actually some nice looking bottles and flasks, but he had one already and didn't need another. Although. . . there was a blue one that would go really well with his teal outfit. Jaskier shook his head. He'd shop for fun some other time. He needed to go see Bellamy to see if any of the other pieces were finished yet. At least he didn't have to bring the damaged doublet back to her. Tilly confessed that she struggled with needlework, but Mallowyn had done a masterful job on the knife hole.

Jaskier pocketed the ginger after paying and headed back out onto the street. He ran through a mental list of things he'd need. He'd already put everything he could think of in the trunk the new steward had brought up this morning. But he was pretty sure he'd forget something. They'd be in Skellige all summer, only returning in the fall. Harrison had assured him that he'd be coming along, so Jaskier wouldn't have to get to know someone new just as he'd gotten comfortable with a personal guard. He frowned when he thought about how Geralt had filled that role before. 

Bellamy glowered when he entered her shop. “We don't have anything else finished for you yet.”

“I just came to see if you had any more shirts,” he said, hiding his mild disappointment with a more practical request. “I'm going on a trip and I won't be back until fall.”

“Oh. Well then. I guess that frees us up for other customers. For once,” she muttered.

“And here I thought I was your favorite customer.”

“The most demanding, more like.” She sniffed. “If you don't care that they're a little big, I could provide a few things. The previous buyer won't be needing them anymore.” She went into the other room.

“I'm sure it will be fine,” Jaskier called after her. And if they didn't quite fit, then he could probably find someone in Skellige who knew how to sew. He winked at Sadie and Kieran who winked back when Bellamy was out of the room. Sadie leaned forward on her stool to whisper. 

“She got stood up last night, so she's a bit grumpier than usual today.”

“Well that's a shame. Do you know who it is? I can write some nasty limericks about them.”

Sadie giggled. “Naw. Miss Fairlane's a good sort. She's just forgetful. She often gets caught up creating new colors for dye in her workshop and loses track of time.”

“They've been courting for ages,” Kieran said with a smile. “But every once in a while, Aunt Bellamy feels a bit put out. She'll be fine.”

“You done gossiping about my love life?” Bellamy asked with a huff. Sadie and Kieran bent down over their work while trying not to smile. Bellamy just rolled her eyes toward the ceiling like she was praying for patience before handing over the shirts. 

Jaskier examined the fine, cream colored cotton and deemed them acceptable. They were long and a little wider than his build, but the shoulders would fit well enough. But the wide sleeves wouldn't be very good for wearing under a doublet. There was too much fabric. He blinked in surprise when Bellamy handed him another stack of sewn fabric. He set down the shirts and unfolded several vests and matching embroidered bracers in various colors. They weren't doublets by any means, but they were made of good brocades and weaves and there was a charm to them that had him reconsidering his usual look. They'd undoubtedly pair well with the new shirts and the bracers would tuck in the fabric around his hands so it couldn't interfere with the lute strings.

“Since it's summer, I figured you could use a few lighter things to get you started while we worked on the heavier, more work-intensive clothes for when it gets cold,” Bellamy said, sounding suspiciously casual about it.

“You are a marvel, my dear,” he said. “Many thanks.” He ignored her smirk as he paid for the new clothes before turning to the other two. “The dragon was perfect. Thank you.” 

“I'm glad your little one enjoys it,” Sadie said with a warm smile.

Jaskier left feeling a little lighter. He still needed to pick up some ink and extra sheaves of parchment. He hadn't really taken the time to get his writing supplies together since he'd been back in the Wood. But if he was sailing off to a new land, he wanted to be prepared if the muse struck him. He ended up with a couple bags and packages before he made it back to his rooms. He set them down in the sitting room and looked at the open trunk, mentally rearranging things for the dozenth time. 

There was a soft tap on the door and he opened it to find Tilly standing in the hall. 

“May I come in for a moment?”

“Of course. Come in.” Jaskier stepped aside so she could enter before shutting the door, leaving Harrison in the hallway. 

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “I hear you're the one who got the queen to reconsider me as Ciri's lady's maid.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Ciri asked for you. I didn't know much about it, or you, when I asked Mousesack to look into it.” He frowned. “And she really hated Donna.”

Tilly's nose wrinkled. “I only met her once, but I didn't like her much myself.”

“Me either.”

“But it's not just that,” she said, turning away to look at the hearth for a moment as she smoothed her skirt nervously. When she turned around to face him again, her expression was soft. “Thank you for all you've done for Ciri.”

“I don't think I've done much.” Jaskier wished he had tea or something similar to offer her. “I'm glad to be here, and I genuinely enjoy her company.” Which he'd found odd at first. He had no real experience with children, but the princess was an unexpected treasure that showed him the world from a completely different perspective. Even though he was dreading the time at sea, he was looking forward to the trip since she was so excited for it.

“After her parents died. . . she was so distraught. And we didn't know how to help her.” Tilly's lips quirked. “And she kept asking for buttercups.”

“I saw the vases of flowers my first night here.”

“She's happy and healthy and I can't help but think that you've contributed to that.”

“It's nice of you to say so.” Jaskier felt a bit odd accepting the praise.

“Well, I should let you get back to packing.” She clasped her hands and her cheeks started to glow with a warm, rich blush. “Mallowyn will be staying here for the summer, but I'll be going with you and Ciri to Skellige. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“Thanks.” 

She nodded and let herself out. Hoo boy. He needed to finish packing.

*******

Two days later, Jaskier was staring at the ship in the harbor with a sense of foreboding. It was a large, three masted thing with a couple people hanging from the rigging and a few others ferrying the last of the cargo on board. He wasn't afraid, necessarily. He just wasn't looking forward to heaving his guts up. Someone slapped him on the back hard, making him jump.

“You look like you're about to walk to your doom, lad. Why the pale complexion?” Olaf asked him. 

Jaskier took a swig of ginger tea from the flask he carried and hoped it would keep his stomach calm. “I'm not a fan of sailing.”

“Drinking this early in the morning won't help you.” 

“It's tea. I'm trying to keep my stomach from revolting.” He'd considered skipping breakfast, but Mousesack had assured him that would only make it worse.

“Have you ever traveled by ship before?” Olaf asked.

“No. I've only been on the water twice, and both times I got sick.”

“I may be able to help you with that. But let's see if you can find your sea legs first, and we'll go from there.”

“Sure,” Jaskier replied without enthusiasm.

“You'll be fine.” Olaf sauntered off, leaving Jaskier with Harrison.

“You're not the only one who doesn't enjoy sailing.”

Jaskier looked over to see Harrison looking a little green already. He handed him the flask. “You look like you need this more than me.”

Harrison took a sip and winced. 

“Come on!” Ciri's small voice carried over the din of the harbor. She was waving to them from the deck of the ship. Tilly stood at her side looking both fond and exasperated by the outburst.

“Well,” Jaskier said with a sigh. “Lets not keep her waiting.”

They walked up the gangplank together carefully and went aboard. The water was calm but Jaskier could feel the deck shifting softly beneath his feet. Some of it had to be his imagination, but he wasn't sure how to get past it. 

Ciri proceeded to take him on a tour of the ship, nimbly stepping around the crew who smiled at her fondly. Hardy, gruff looking men with sweet expressions gave Jaskier some ideas for a song, but he'd wait to experiment with it until he was out of punching range. They glanced at Jaskier's rose ensemble dubiously as they went about their work. Jaskier just smiled In return while trying not to swallow convulsively too much as the nausea grew

When they got to their accommodations, there was a fair amount of room, despite the tight confines of the ship. Ciri would be bunking with Tilly in one of the three cabins, Eist and Olaf had another, while Jaskier was in one of the crew berths with Harrison and Jakes. Fortunately, they'd be sleeping in bunks instead of hammocks. Hopefully that would help keep the sensation of swaying down. Maybe. Jaskier had never really sailed before. The party on Ferrant's yacht years ago, and his brief trip with Geralt in the skiff in Hamm didn't really count. He barely remembered being on the deck of the brigantine during the storm before the giant Sea Serpent had destroyed it.

Ciri tugged eagerly on Jaskier's hand as they came back up on deck. “Look!” she hissed in a loud whisper. “There he is! The Witcher!”

Jaskier looked up as adrenaline shot through his core, half expecting to see Geralt. But the tall, man with auburn hair and amber eyes was not the person he was expecting. He wore dark reinforced canvas trousers and lightweight calfskin boots with a cream colored shirt. The hilt of his winged sword poked over his left shoulder. 

“Corbyn?”

A warm, surprised smile spread across the Witcher's face as he strode easily across the deck to greet them. “Jaskier,” he said, his rich baritone curling around the name. “It's good to see you.” 

Jaskier ignored his extended hand and wrapped him in a hug, making the other man sigh fondly as he hugged him back. If he wasn't mistaken, there had been a look of profound relief on Corbyn's face.

“Are you alright?” Corbyn asked him quietly.

“Just a little seasick,” Jaskier murmured into the other man's shirt as he tried to convince himself that was why he'd started shaking. “I'm hoping I'll get over it.”

“Perhaps. It's going to be a relatively short trip, but a week is a long time to feel ill.”

Jaskier pulled back a bit. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm heading back to Skellige.” Corbyn looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced around at the crew and other passengers, his eyes lighting briefly on Harrison before settling on Ciri who was practically vibrating with excitement. There was more to his statement, but he didn't seem to want to speak in front of so many people.

“You're a Witcher!” Ciri blurted suddenly when she couldn't hold it in anymore. “And you know Jaskier!” She tugged at the hem of Jaskier's doublet. “You didn't say you knew _two_ Witchers!” 

“Actually, I know six,” Jaskier said and smiled when Ciri sputtered excitedly, asking questions nearly faster than she could speak the words. “Take a breath,” he said calmly. “Think about what you want to ask.” 

Ciri took a deep breath and let it out in an excited giggle. She calmed herself and looked up at Jaskier, her expression turning miffed. “You never said.”

“We haven't gotten to that part of the story yet. I met Corbyn later.” Jaskier reached out suddenly and braced his hand on Corbyn's arm as he felt the ship move. It wasn't a large movement, but it was enough for him to feel it. His stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“We're heading out of the harbor,” Corbyn said. “Let's get you below deck. Lying down may help.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Jaskier swallowed and took another sip of tea from his bottle. 

“What's wrong?” Ciri's expression shifted from excitement to alarm. 

“It's alright,” Jaskier told her. “I just get a little ill when I sail. It may take a little bit for me to feel better.”

“No story tonight?”

Jaskier sighed at the disappointment on her face. “It might not come to that. Let's see how I feel later. For now, go see your grandfather. I'm sure he's happy to be heading back to his homeland for the summer and he'll enjoy your company.”

“Okay.” She was clearly disappointed, but seemed to be trying to put on a good face. Drawing herself up, she curtsied for him. “I hope you feel better soon,” she said formally before striding off across the deck. 

Corbyn watched her go with a raised brow, and Jaskier chuckled.

“We've been working on manners recently and she's been practicing.” Jaskier headed below decks to his bunk and hung his lute on a convenient peg before sliding carefully onto the surprisingly plush mattress pad. It took a bit to find a comfortable position as his stomach protested. Corbyn, bless him, had snagged a bucket somewhere along the way and set it on the floor next to him. 

“So what are you doing traveling with the Cintran royal family?” Corbyn asked as he sat on the edge of the bunk across from him. 

“That's a long story. Let's just say I've become one of Cirilla's. . . tutors, I guess. I don't have a formal title beyond Court Bard, I don't think.” He'd never really asked. He'd just kind of found a place at the palace. 

Corbyn looked at him for long enough that Jaskier was worried that he wouldn't say anything. But then he sighed quietly.

“Where have you been?” The quiet anguish in Corbyn's voice made Jaskier swallow hard and it had nothing to do with the nausea. 

“I was in Ard Carraigh for a couple years.”

Corbyn closed his eyes. “That would explain why we couldn't find you. We thought. . .” He shook his head. “It doesn't matter.” 

“We?”

“When you didn't return to Hamm in the summer, Freixenet and I sent a letter to your friends in Oxenfurt. They were worried and said they hadn't seen you in some time, so we hired a soothsayer to scry for you.” Corbyn shrugged, but it was deflective movement that betrayed his discomfort. “We didn't find anything.” 

“I'm sorry.” Jaskier lay back and looked up at the bottom of the upper bunk. “I was. . .hiding for a while.”

“Is Geralt alright?”

“I don't know.” Shrugging was a bad idea and Jaskier had to roll back onto his side and a wave of nausea washed over him. “We parted ways nearly three years ago. Before I went to Ard Carraigh. Haven't seen him since then.” He tried to make it sound casual but didn't think he was all that successful. “What about you? Skellige? I thought you spent most of your time moving back and forth between Hamm, Cintra, and Rivia.”

“I've been hunting in Skellige steadily for about a year now. Calanthe's consort referred me to one of the Jarls who'd been having a Cockatrice problem. After that, I decided to stay. There's plenty of work and I'm always by the water. And there wasn't. . .I didn't have much interest in spending time on the mainland.” 

Jaskier wanted to say something. To apologize again. He'd never realized how many people would miss him when he was gone. He just didn't think of it. But a surge of vertigo hit him and he leaned over the edge of the bunk to be messily sick in the bucket. He lost some of his breakfast and most of the tea. He rinsed out his mouth with a swig of brewed ginger before miserably laying back.

Mousesack appeared in the doorway. “Olaf said you might be sick and Ciri demanded that I fix it.” He waved a hand to clear the bucket, making the contents disappear and get replaced with clean seawater. “Why didn't you say anything before we left?”

Jaskier curled up miserably. “Thought I could handle it.,” he mumbled. “ _Can_ you fix it?” he added as he swallowed hard again.

The Druid sighed. “Sadly, no. I can ease a bit of your discomfort, but that won't solve the problem.” He came over and laid an hand on Jaskier's clammy brow. The touch sent a burst of cool through him and settled his stomach a bit, but didn't make it go away completely. It would have to do for now. “Once we're out in deeper water, come up on deck. It may ease the symptoms.”

“If you say so,” Jaskier mumbled, trying to enjoy the brief respite while it lasted.


	24. Wandering Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!

By the time they were out in the open ocean, Jaskier was focusing on the wood paneling in front of him and breathing calmly. Those seemed to be the only things that kept him from vomiting continuously. The tea helped in that he wasn't constantly sick, but the roiling dizziness and occasional heaving seemed to be too much to overcome. Corbyn had gone topside while Jaskier had napped fitfully earlier. Harrison was also up on deck because hearing Jaskier get sick had set him off and he'd been suffering from sympathy vomiting. Jax was made of sterner stuff and he was playing cards on the other bunk. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier muttered after he rinsed his mouth and spit the bitter mouthful into the bucket.

“Don't worry about it,” Jax told him kindly. “You're not the first to have trouble on the water. It's getting pretty late though. You should go for a walk on deck for a bit and have something to eat before coming back down to sleep.”

Jaskier wasn't sure he could really sleep when he felt this ill, but he prayed that he'd be able to get some real rest. The napping had left him feeling weak and exhausted. Not sleeping for the entire week it would take to get to Skellige would be awful. But maybe some fresh air could do him some good. He slithered off the bunk and braced himself on the bulkhead, but when he reached for the bucket, Jax waved him away.

“I'll get it.” He grabbed the bucket and brought it with him as he trailed him up to the deck. 

Jaskier headed directly for the nearest railing just in case. He clutched at the woodwork and tried to focus on breathing. Olaf came over to stand beside him.

“Sorry about that. I would have come down to see you sooner, but I thought you'd adjust.”

“Nope.” Jaskier had to swallow and look out over the water. Focusing on the horizon made him a little less nauseous. 

“Here.” Olaf took Jaskier's hand and loosened his cuff before pushing up his sleeve. He pulled out a tapered leather band with a knot tied at the thin end and placed the knot about three finger widths from the heel of Jaskier's hand. Then he wrapped the wider strip of leather over it and secured it so it pressed the small knot against the inside of his arm. It created a slight pressure, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He repeated the process with Jaskier's other arm and told him to wait a few minutes. Jaskier had no idea what they were supposed to do but oddly enough, he actually started to feel better. By the time a few minutes had passed, the nausea had retreated so it was barely noticeable. He sighed in relief.

“I owe you so many beers,” he murmured as he closed his eyes and let the sea breeze brush over his face. This was so much better.

Olaf chuckled. “I'll hold you to that.”

Jaskier examined the leather before sliding his sleeves back down. “Do I just leave them on?”

“For the rest of the trip,” Olaf confirmed. “Keep them. They might come in handy. My sister swears by them when she's pregnant and her husband uses them when he's fishing. Poor sod used to heave up his guts every time he went out to pull in the nets.”

“Thank you.”

Harrison wandered over. “Better?”

“So much,” Jaskier said. “How about you?”

“I no longer want to throw myself overboard, so yeah, it's much better now.”

“Sorry about earlier.”

“Don't worry about it. Here.” Harrison handed him an apple. “The leather bands should help you feel better, but start small.”

Jaskier didn't complain as he took his first bite of solid food since breakfast. This was going to make the trip so much easier to bear. He finished the apple and accepted the bowl of hot porridge from the ship's cook.

“There's always one,” the man said, not unkindly as he passed him the bowl. It smelled strongly of lemon and nutty oats. It was filling and oddly settling on Jaskier's stomach. 

The ship was now out of sight of land and the afternoon was turning into early evening with a slight blush along the clear horizon. The weather was fair and the seas relatively calm as the sails caught the wind and propelled them north. Now that he wasn't throwing up, it was quietly beautiful. After giving back the bowl, Jaskier headed toward the front of the ship where Ciri was staring ahead over the water. She looked back over her shoulder and grinned at him. Jaskier was struck by the memory of the dream he'd had the night of Pavetta's betrothal feast. He'd been right here on this ship and Ciri had asked him if he could hear Destiny coming for him. But he hadn't known who she was at the time. 

A shiver ran up Jaskier's spine. The idea that his dreams had been prophetic unsettled him. He wished he had someone to talk to about it and he glanced over at Mousesack where he was chatting with Eist and Olaf on the other side of the deck. The Druid glanced at him and his brow furrowed as he tiled his head in question. Jaskier shook his head and moved up to settle beside Ciri at the railing. He wanted more privacy for that particular conversation and he wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject yet.

“Are you feeling better?” Ciri asked him, her smile faltering a little. 

“Yes, I'm much better now, thank you.”

“Better enough to sing?” Ciri tiled her head, her expression shifting to hopeful suggestion. 

“I think I may be able to pluck out a few notes. I'll be right back.” After retrieving his lute from his bunk, he settled on one of the benches built into the edge of the deck by the railing and started playing. It was just a light melody at first and Ciri came over to sit next to him. The sailors who weren't actively working stopped what they were doing to listen. 

Jaskier started singing about adventure on the horizon and peace on the waves, of fair weather and full sails on the way to their destination. Picking up the pace, he started singing a song he'd heard in one of the taverns in the harbor about a ship that sailed the ocean and found magical beings every time it crested a wave. Each one was larger and more grand until the ship finally sailed to the edge of the world with nothing to show for it. At the end of the song, the ship sailed bravely out over the waves to do it all over again, hoping to find something to prove to the world what they'd seen. 

Half of the sailors were clapping along and most of the rest were smiling. It seemed his gamble had paid off. Jaskier wasn't sure how they'd react, as most sailors he'd come across were fairly superstitious and he'd worried they'd get spooked by the subject of the song. But since he'd learned it from a sailor, he shouldn't have been too worried.

“What's a Kraken?” Ciri asked with a yawn as she leaned against Jaskier's arm.

“It's a giant sea monster with long tentacles,” Corbyn replied as he came over.

Ciri peered up at him. “Have you ever seen one?”

“No. But I knew someone who did and he told me all about it. They're rare and live far out to sea. We won't be seeing any on this trip,” he said.

“Hmm. But I wanna see one.” She yawned again.

Jaskier slide the lute over his shoulder so it hung at his back and shifted to pick her up. “That's enough excitement for today. It's off bed for you.”

“Story,” Ciri mumbled as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. 

“We'll pick up where we left off when we get to Skellige,” he said as he carefully headed below, putting one foot in front of the other slowly so he wouldn't stumble on the shifting deck. While he wasn't feeling sick anymore, the leather bands weren't doing much for his balance while standing on something that was constantly moving.

When he set Ciri down on the bunk, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. 

“Story.” 

“There are too many people about just now. That story is just for you and I'd like a little more privacy to tell it.”

Tilly came in and moved over to the other bunk. “It's been a long day and I'm sure Jaskier is tired after spending so much time feeling ill,” she said. “Perhaps he can come up with a different story tomorrow.” She pulled out the stuffed dragon and handed to Jaskier.

“Okay.” Ciri relented and lay back on the bunk and accepted the dragon. She snuggled into the blanket with her arms wrapped around it. 

Jaskier nodded at Tilly who didn't seem at all bothered by the movement of the ship, and headed back up to the deck. He went back over to sit with Corbyn as the crew went about their business again and started lighting lamps in the growing darkness. Eist and Olaf had headed below, probably to say goodnight to Ciri before retiring, and Mousesack had settled on the deck at the front of the ship with his eyes closed. Jaskier wondered if it bothered him to be so disconnected from the land.

“You're good with her,” Corbyn murmured, keeping his voice pitched low.

Jaskier shrugged. “Kids are just tiny adults with more curiosity and imagination. They're not that hard to manage.”

Corbyn chuckled, the sound curling pleasantly along Jaskier's nape. He'd missed him.

“You haven't been around many children then. The princess is more well behaved than most, so she's not the best example. Though I've heard she can be quite the terror when she puts her mind to it.”

Jaskier had seen hints of that, but Ciri had been too happy since he'd arrived to really do anything untoward. But things had been difficult for her for weeks. Perhaps she'd get more devious as she got more comfortable and relaxed again. 

“She's a good kid.”

“Hm.” 

Jaskier closed his eyes at the noncommittal grunt and sighed quietly. He should go to bed, but he didn't want to just yet. Looking over at Corbyn's profile, he noticed a few puckered marks along the left side of his jaw. Reaching up before he realized what he was doing, he ran his thumb gently over the indentations. 

“These are new since I last saw you,” he said. 

“It turned out that the Cockatrice had a bit more reach than I originally estimated. Caught me on the chin.”

“I thought the point was to not get clawed or bitten,” Jaskier said with a smirk, using Corbyn's words against him lightly. The Witcher smiled and chuckled quietly. The first time they'd parted ways outside of Hamm, he hadn't let Jaskier buy him any armor, insisting that the whole point of fighting monsters was to keep from getting hit in the first place.

“Every once in a while, they get a lucky shot in,” Corbyn said, his amber eyes glowing warmly in the lamplight. “I've missed you.”

Jaskier swallowed and it turned suddenly into a deep yawn, breaking the intimate connection that had started to form. “I am so sorry,” he said, feeling quietly mortified. But Corbyn just smiled at him again. 

“Maybe you should get some real rest now that you're feeling better.”

“Yeah.” Jaskier stood reluctantly, knowing that he was right, but wanting to stay up with him just a bit longer. But Corbyn rose with him, placing a large, warm hand on his lower back as he got his balance and guided him below deck. The simple touch made Jaskier bite back a wistful sigh. Harrison was trailing behind them but said nothing.

Jax was already in the upper bunk across from Jaskier and Harrison settled below him. To Jaskier's surprise, Corbyn gave him one last smile before removing his sword and lightly vaulting up into the bunk above Jaskier's. Oh, gods. He was going to be sleeping right above him. Corbyn would be able to hear his heartbeat and catch his scent, which must be less than pleasant after today's events. Jaskier looked forward to taking a long, hot bath when they reached their destination. Putting his lute in the case and hanging it on the peg again, he crawled into his bunk and tried not to think about the Witcher sleeping above him. 

*******

The novelty of sailing wore off after about three days. This was a relatively short trip, but to a four year old, it seemed to take ages. Ciri bemoaned resuming her lessons with Mousesack, trying to get out of them by pretending to be seasick. Jaskier gave her a very dry look and she pouted, but relented and tried to pretend to pay attention to what the Druid was saying. Jaskier spent time reading the book he'd brought, writing, and chatting with the sailors. After the song that first night, they seemed to warm up to him a bit. He wanted to speak with Mousesack, but he was willing to wait until they got to Skellige so they could have some space to themselves. The ship was large, but ultimately not that big when filled with people. 

Jaskier settled at the railing one afternoon, strumming his lute idly. He was getting a little restless being at sea and couldn't imagine going on longer voyages where it could be weeks between ports. Sighing, he started singing of homecoming and comfort, of warm fires and good company. He lost track of time as he let the music wander. A hand squeezing his shoulder brought him to himself.

“Jaskier,” Corbyn murmured.

“Hmm.” Jaskier continued playing, his eyes closed as he felt the warmth of the other man standing at his back. A loud splash and shouting made him finally open his eyes. “Whoa!” He reeled back a bit and pressed back into Corbyn's chest as a huge serpentine coil broke the surface next to the ship before submerging again. It looked oddly familiar.

“Is that. . .?”

“Amorelius,” Corbyn confirmed. “Her spawning grounds are near here, but she usually stays deeper.”

“Oops,” Jaskier murmured. “Hello!” he called as the giant serpent surfaced again. “Sorry to bother you!” 

Some of the sailors looked at him like he'd lost his mind and a couple reached for their weapons nervously.

“They won't hurt her, will they?”

“As long as she doesn't touch the ship, it should be fine. I've spoken to the captain. It's not the first time they've seen large beasts while sailing, but you may want to take a break from singing for a bit and allow her to calm down.”

“Oh. Yeah. That's. . . uh, do you think Virgil is down there?” The cantankerous Vodyanoy captain would not be pleased about this. 

“Probably. But he won't surface with the ship here. He's angry and judgmental, not suicidal.” 

“Right.”

“Ciri, get back!” Olaf hissed, from somewhere to their right.

“But I wanna see!” she cried. Jaskier looked over to see Olaf holding her and pulling back away from the railing. Sliding away from Corbyn, Jaskier slid his lute behind him and went over before she started biting. 

“It's fine,” Jaskier told him. “She's already going out to sea. Letting Ciri watch won't hurt anything.” Jaskier looked at her where she was held in the other man's arms. “You weren't planning to swim with her, were you?”

Ciri's nose crinkled. “No. I just wanna see her.” She crossed her arms over her chest where Olaf held her aloft, managing to look regal despite her diminutive size and awkward position. Jaskier glanced at Eist who just shrugged and nodded to Olaf who sighed and set her down again. Both men appeared to be wary and a little nervous. It was obvious that Ciri wanted to run back to the railing, but she glanced at everyone cautiously, like she expected to be snatched up again. Jaskier held out his hand to her and she took it, allowing him to lead her back to the railing. Corbyn came over and she stood between them on her tiptoes so she could see out over the water. 

“What is it?” she asked.

“Amorelius is a Giant Sea Serpent,” Corbyn said, the pleasant baritone of his voice carrying over the waves. Amorelius looped up out of the water farther away from the ship, arching back up until she dove back beneath the waves. Jaskier thought he saw a smaller shape darting along behind her. He waved, knowing it would probably annoy the Vodyanoy.

“Are you going to hunt her?” Ciri asked.

Corbyn sighed. “No. She doesn't attack unless provoked and she's moving deeper into the water back to where she lives.” 

“If she's not going to attack and she lives underwater, why did she come up here?”

Corbyn and Jaskier exchanged a look before Jaskier chuckled. “She likes my singing.”

“Like the Rusalka?””

“Sort of.” Jaskier ignored Corbyn's raised brow. “There are a lot of beasts that enjoy music.”

“So you sing to monsters?” Ciri asked.

“Sometimes. But I don't go looking for them. They usually find me.” Jaskier sighed wistfully as he thought about the many occasions where music had saved his life. 

Ciri peered up at Corbyn. “Do _you_ ever sing to monsters?”

“I'm not much of a singer,” he said. 

Jaskier imagined Corbyn's warm baritone singing and suppressed a small shiver. Gods, he was starving for some adult companionship. This was probably the longest he'd ever gone without being with someone. But a small prick of guilt spoiled the feeling. If he was really going to pursue this, it shouldn't be because he was lonely and desperate. And there was no guarantee that the other man would be interested. Jaskier could read people fairly well, but Witchers were an anomaly that confused him on occasion. Sighing, he looked out over the waves and watched Amorelius dive down one last time. His Witcher problem just kept getting more complicated.


	25. Citadel on the Cliffside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone. I hope your week goes well.
> 
> I'm actually disappointed that this part is almost over. I've really enjoyed posting chapters and reading everyone's reactions. But there's a short story right after this one and we'll plow right into that. (Might take a week off in between, might not. I'll let you know when we get there.)
> 
> I've fallen behind on the next big installment. Big changes and stressful events happening here in real life. (Home improvement blows while it's happening even if the results are great.) And my job has gotten simultaneously more peaceful while getting busier at the same time. Lot of balancing. But I think I'm back on track and I'll see how it goes.

The port of Kaer Trolde was tucked into a small cove that was too small for the ship to pull up to the dock. To Jaskier's dismay, they'd have to disembark and board smaller longboats that would take them to shore. The bags and luggage were already being ferried over by sailors from the town that had come out to greet them. Before he stepped down into the waiting boat, Jaskier looked up to see the foreboding citadel perched high on the rocks above. 

A winding trail along the cliff face led up to the gatehouse where a stone bridge connecting two sheer cliffs led to the castle itself. What a dark, brooding place. He glanced at Eist who was already on the dock with Ciri and Mousesack. The people greeted them with hugs and smiles and appeared to be much warmer than their reputation had suggested. One large man in particular, with red hair and a beard, seemed particularly jovial.

Climbing carefully down to the longboat, Jaskier lost his footing on the ladder and fell the last couple of feet. His heart leapt up into his throat as he assumed that he'd somehow end up in the water. But strong arms curled around him before he landed, holding him close and setting him down in the longboat so he could get his balance again. Jaskier looked up to see Corbyn regarding him with fond amusement.

“What your step,” he said quietly.

“Uh, thanks.” Jaskier carefully disentangled himself so he could take a seat in the boat. 

“Smooth,” Harrison muttered when he sat beside him.

Jaskier didn't reply as he blew out a breath and looked out over the water. He hadn't really come up with answer to the multiple questions he had. There hadn't really been the time or the space to speak with Corbyn about much aside from general pleasantries and swapping stories from the last couple of years. The Witcher was open and warm, but incredibly hard to read sometimes. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking. 

When they reached the dock and Jaskier was on solid land for the first time in more than a week, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Despite the relief Olaf had provided with the leather wraps around his arms, he now knew for certain that he was a creature of the land. Ocean voyages were definitely going to be few and far between if he had anything to say about it.

“I remember you,” a booming voice declared when he stepped onto the dock. The large, red-haired man, Crach an Craite, Jaskier's memory supplied, came over and shook his hand while clapping him on the back. “Jaskier the Bard, if I'm not mistaken. Have you ever been to the isles before?”

“No, this is my first visit,” Jaskier said, trying not to wince as the other man squeezed his hand. It wasn't a challenge necessarily, just a lot of strength in the other man's grip as he clenched Jaskier's fingers. 

“Well then. Welcome to Ard Skellig. I'm Crach an Craite. Come share my fire and enjoy my hospitality for as long as you choose to stay.”

Ciri came over and hugged Jaskier's other arm while looking up at Crach. “Uncle Crach, this is Jaskier!” she declared brightly.

“Aye, Sweetling. He sang for your mam the night she married your father.” Crach's expression faltered as Ciri's grip on Jaskier tightened. The huge man crouched down in front of her, his eyes full of grief and compassion. “We all miss her, lass.”

Ciri nodded and sniffed before going to him when he held his arms out to her. He engulfed her in his warm embrace and lifted her up to carry her up the dock. Ciri peered out around his shoulder, her eyes locking on Jaskier after a quick, almost frantic search.

“I'm still here,” he told her softly. “I'm not going anywhere.” He relaxed again when she nodded and snuggled back into Crach's arms. After the night he'd nearly died in the palace, Ciri became tense when she didn't know where he was or couldn't see him. Getting her so she was comfortable on her own again was slow going. They'd have to work towards it gradually.

Eist walked at Crach's side with Mousesack and Olaf. Jaskier followed them with Harrison and Tilly while Jax and Corbyn trailed behind as they walked through the town and started up the path to the gatehouse above. The weather was still fair but the temperature was moderate despite it being the well into summer. The town itself was well settled with an inn and tavern, a glassblower and jeweler, and a branch of the Cianfanelli bank. A couple years ago, Jaskier had transferred some of his funds from the Modern banking system to the branch in Novigrad. While Vivaldi's filled all his needs, he figured it wouldn't hurt to have more options, and it appeared that the decision was paying off. Not that he really needed anything at the moment. 

Calanthe had been true to her word, offering him anything he asked for and more. Along with the rooms he'd been provided and furnishings to his taste and needs, he was receiving a regular stipend. It was the most profitable position he'd ever had. But looking at Ciri's tousled hair where it floated in the wind as she lay her head on Crach's shoulder, he realized that the most valuable part of this whole arrangement was being carried up the trail in front of him. He'd never been interested in having children, but it seemed he was destined be surrounded by them. Between Ciri, his potential children in Brokilon, and Essi's newborn son, his family was branching out in all directions despite losing touch with part of it. He really missed the Witchers of Kaer Morhen.

At the top of the path, the bridge between the cliffs was mercifully closed in on all sides so he didn't have to look at the sheer drop below. The keep itself was warm and inviting on the inside even though it had been carved directly out of the dark rock. Large chandeliers and candelabras made shadows dance on the numerous tapestries covering the walls. Jaskier wanted to come back and take a closer look at the designs when he had more time. He caught sight of fantastical creatures and one of them looked like it depicted an epic battle against a giant. He'd have to ask about that one later. There was bound to be a story behind it.

He stopped for a moment in the hallway, looking down at the floor. He'd been here before. Not in person, but in a dream. It was after he'd channeled lightning with his voice and suffered from magic burn. He'd gotten sick and spent days in bed. While recovering, he'd dreamed of an older version of Ciri who laid a blanket over him where he lay shivering on the floor. And then she'd sang to him. A shiver went down his spine. He needed to talk to Mousesack, sooner rather than later. Memories like this one kept surfacing and he didn't know what he should do about it. Or if he should do anything.

Jaskier was given a cozy set of rooms overlooking the ocean and there was a connecting door to a room for Harrison. His trunk was already at the foot of the large bed, but he'd wait to unpack completely until later tonight. After taking a sinfully hot bath in the deep, stone tub and changing into fresh clothes, he felt much better. He dressed in one of the new shirts with a blue vest embroidered with twisting gold patterns and he tucked the cuffs into the soft cloth bracers around his forearms. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was struck by how much this new silhouette looked like the style Jan had been wearing when he first saw him in Novigrad. The memories that rose were not necessarily good ones, but he decided he liked the look. He wasn't going to let the past intrude on his future. Jaskier ignored the little voice that told him that was easier said than done.

In the dining hall, a hearty lunch of lamb stew and fresh bread was being served. When Ciri joined them, she was dressed in a blouse and a pair of trousers tucked into soft boots. She had a fluffy gray cat in her arms and it's long fluffy body stretched down from where her arms were wrapped around it. Grinning at Jaskier, she hugged the cat. It gave Jaskier a long suffering look like it desperately wanted to be somewhere else, but it grudgingly put up with Ciri out of some feline sense obligation. But it's patience seemed to be at it's end and It scampered away as soon as she set it's furry little feet on the floor. She pouted and looked about ready to run after it.

“Leave Fiske be, dear. You can play with him later.” A woman in a simple skirt, embroidered top, and sensible boots herded a small boy toward the table while balancing a younger girl casually on her hip. Both children had Crach's bright red hair. The woman eyed Ciri who was still poised to run after the cat until she gave up. She heaved a put-upon sigh before coming to the table, but she brightened when she looked at Jaskier.

“Sit here!” She patted the seat next to her and he obliged.

Eist came in with Crach and Olaf. Crach beamed wide a smile at Ciri before looking at Jaskier. 

“She really is attached to you, isn't she.” He elbowed Eist. “Thought you were blowing smoke up my arse.”

Eist's mouth curled in a small smile but he didn't reply. 

Crach gestured to the woman and the children. “My wife, Ingrid and my children, Hjalmar and Cerys.”

The boy was maybe three or four, and Cerys probably wasn't more than two. 

“You're Ciri's bard, then,” Ingrid said, her light accent making the words light and lilting. At the mention that he was a bard, both children perked up. 

“Sing a drinking song!” Hjalmar piped, his red hair flopping over his forehead. “With swears!”

“You'll need some hair on your chest before you're ready for that, lad,” Olaf said with a laugh as he wrestled with the boy briefly and wrangled him into a chair. Hjalmar giggled and sat kicking his feet. Cerys watched her brother with bright eyes and laughed when he did. 

Ciri leaned eagerly across the table towards Hjalmar. “He sings songs about _Witchers!_ ” she hissed in an excited whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Like Corbyn?” the boy asked with wide eyes. 

“He sings about the White Wolf,” she declared. 

“Whooooaaa,” Hjalmar breathed, seemingly blown away by this knowledge. He hardly noticed the bowl that was set in front of him. “Have you seen him? Is he real?”

“Well,” Ciri said hesitantly. “ _I_ haven't, but _Jaskier_ has. He used to travel with him _all_ the time.” She seemed please to share this, like it gave her some sort of higher standing by association.

“That was a long time ago,” Jaskier said as he buttered a thick slice of bread. It hadn't quite been three years yet, but it seemed like a lifetime ago now. He glanced around the table and saw that Corbyn and Mousesack were missing. “Is this everyone?” he asked.

“Mousesack's holed up in his office,” Olaf said around a mouthful of meat. “He usually hunkers down for a while after being on the water. He'll show up eventually.”

Crach took a swig from his mug. “The Witcher is off on a contract. Those thrice cursed Sirens have overtaken the beaches around Rannvaig.”

“Again?” Eist frowned. “I thought we cleaned out all the nests last time.”

Crach shrugged. “Scaly bitches breed like rabbits apparently.” 

Jaskier had never seen a siren and his first impulse was to trail after Corbyn to see one. But he stopped and blinked. That was a stupid and dangerous idea. From what the bestiaries at Kaer Morhen had said, Sirens were worse than Harpies and those were fairly terrible. The talon scars on his right hip itched at the memory. Despite his worry, he had to trust that Corbyn knew what he was doing. He'd been hunting in Skellige for more than a year now and he'd been a Witcher long before he'd been cursed, so he'd probably dealt with them before.

“Do Sirens sing?” Jaskier asked.

“Aye,” Olaf told him, his brow raising slightly. “But you wouldn't like it. It'd be the last thing you heard before they sliced you open and started eating you.”

Cerys started to fuss where she sat on Ingrid's lap and Olaf immediately bit his tongue. Hjalmar and Ciri were trying to be brave, but even they seemed a little nervous. Olaf tripped over himself to cover. “But we're safe here in the keep and the Witcher'll take care of them. It's fine,” he assured them as he looked for a distraction. “Have you thought about what you want at your birthday feast, Ciri?”

Ciri brightened immediately, easily forgetting the brief scare. “Blackberry cake!” she said with a grin.

Crach chuckled. “Desert's settled then. What about before that?”

“Blackberry cake,” she said, like it was the logical choice. 

Crach and Eist exchanged a fond glance, but didn't contradict her.

“So when is the big day?” Jaskier asked her. There was something niggling the back of his brain about this but he wasn't sure why. 

“Next week. I'm gonna be five!” 

Jaskier smiled and congratulated her on reaching such a big number, while trying to hide his unease. Why did that date bother him? It was early summer. There was nothing that he could recall this time of year that would make him feel this way. 

The children calmed and lunch proceeded peacefully after that while plans were made for the festivities the following week. It would be quite the event apparently, with the Jarls of each clan gathering at Kaer Trolde for the occasion. Along with celebrating Ciri's birthday, it would function as a meeting of the local leaders as well. Jaskier had been doing some reading in the library back in Cintra during his spare time. He'd known what Eist's position was in theory but wanted to know more. Eist was the King of the Isles and all the Jarls would come to pay fealty, and to see Ciri. They spent every summer and winter in Skellige while his nephew Crach oversaw the Isles in his stead when he was in Cintra with his wife during the spring and autumn. 

When the meal was over, Ciri and Hjalmar ran off, seemingly forgetting about Jaskier for the time being. Olaf just shrugged and assured him that he'd keep an eye on them as he trailed off after them. Eist and Crach lingered over their mugs at the table after it was cleared and Ingrid carried Cerys out of the room. Jaskier headed back towards his own room to unpack with Harrison following respectfully behind him. There was a less formal atmosphere here, but the other man seemed intent on keeping to himself for now. 

Jaskier paused occasionally to look at a tapestry or decorative weapon rack. Everything on display looked sharp and deadly, like it was for more than just decoration. But the tapestry outside his room made him stop. It showed what looked like a huge storm with multicolored clouds over a mountain. 

“Do you know what this one's about?” he asked Harrison.

“Hmm. I don't know. I've never really paid much attention to them before.”

“So much for being observant,” Jaskier said with a sideways glance at the other man. 

Harrison shrugged, unperturbed. “I'm pretty sure the tapestries won't try to murder you. It makes them officially not my job to watch them. Mousesack probably knows. If you're really interested, he'd probably love to tell you. He likes that kind of stuff.”

“Do you know where his rooms are?”

“Sure. This way,” he said gesturing the other way down the hall. 

Jaskier followed him while trying to work out why the colored clouds in the tapestry seemed familiar. When they got to Mousesack's door he knocked and waited, unsure if he should have come at another time or not. But after a few moments, Mousesack opened the door, blinking in surprise when he saw Jaskier waiting in the hall. 

“Is there something you need?” the other man asked him.

“No. I. . .” Jaskier sighed and tried to figure out how to describe what he wanted to talk about. There were several questions he'd wanted to ask on the ship that seemed to outweigh his interest in the tapestry. He wasn't sure where to start. “Can I come in?”

Mousesack apparently saw something in his gaze because he nodded easily and stepped back to allow him in. Harrison stayed in the hallway waiting patiently.

The room was full of bookshelves that were full to the brim with bound volumes and scrolls. Two ravens sat on perches by the open window and they eyed Jaskier with curiosity while they fluffed their feathers. Mousesack wore a long, comfortable looking set of robes and he gestured for Jaskier to sit in one of the chairs by the unlit fireplace. 

“What's on your mind?”

“A few things, actually. Do you know about the tapestry outside my room? The one with the colored clouds?”

“You came here to ask me about a tapestry?” Mousesack asked him dryly. 

“Well. . . no. It's just. . . something Ciri said made think about something weird.” He wasn't quite sure how to describe it. “She's going to be five next week.” And he wasn't sure how her birthday hadn't come up before now.

“Indeed. She's growing up very quickly.” Mousesack watched Jaskier but there was no sensation of magic coming off of him. “As for the tapestry, it depicts Amos var Ypsis. He was a mage that specialized in Djinns. They're rare creatures from other worlds.”

“Djinn as in Genie?” Jaskier swallowed, fidgeting with the lacing at one of his cuffs where it gathered the sleeve of his shirt. He thought about Jan who had been a Djinn in human form. He'd dissipated into a cloud of smoke before disappearing completely after Geralt made his last wish. 

When Geralt had died. 

That was five years ago. 

Adrenaline spiked through Jaskier's body, it's sharp points prickling and making his hands shake. Geralt had been killed by a Djinn about five years ago. Jaskier had been able to revive him, but it wasn't his own magic he'd been channeling at the time. He would have had to give up his own life to restore Geralt's if he'd used his own power. Jaskier thought he'd imagined the sound of an infant's cry that day, but what if he hadn't? Soon it would be Ciri's fifth birthday. It seemed a little too much to be a coincidence, especially when he thought about the dreams he'd been having since Pavetta's betrothal.

“Are you alright? You've gone a bit pale.”

“I think my life has gotten a lot more complicated than I thought,” Jaskier said, feeling a bit lightheaded as the adrenaline drained away. “And I really need someone to talk to about it.”


	26. Of Dreaming Bards and Brave Princesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, Wednesday. Why are you not Friday?

“Do you know anything about prophesy?” Jaskier clenched his fingers in his lap.

“Which one?” Mousesack asked as he went over to a side board that had a teapot and other containers. “There are many.”

“Well, not _a_ prophesy, just prophetic visions in general.” Jaskier flexed his fingers, wishing for his lute before folding his hands in his lap again to still them. “Have you ever had a dream that came true before?”

Mousesack regarded him calmly for before turning back to preparing tea. “Is there a particular reason you're asking? The last time we spoke, you weren't exactly open to sharing.” He didn't ask about what complications Jaskier meant. He seemed patient enough to allow him to speak at his own pace.

“I didn't know you very well,” Jaskier told him evenly. “I still don't. But something happened on the ship. It's making me rethink some of the things I've seen. And then the tapestry and Ciri's birthday. . .” He trailed off, knowing that it all sounded a bit absurd.

“You did seem a bit spooked the other day on the ship but you didn't seem inclined to talk about it.”

“Too many people. I don't talk about my magic openly.” He huffed a resigned laugh. “Enough people know about it already.” 

Mousesack nodded and brought over a teapot and two cups on a tray. Setting them down on the low table between the chairs, he poured two cups and handed one to Jaskier.

“Dreams can be unreliable and may contain more metaphor than truth. There are those whose magic manifests through dreaming as they divine the past, present, and future. I don't believe you're an Oneiromancer, but those with a sensitivity to magic can have prophetic dreams occasionally. But it can be hard to interpret what you're seeing.”

“The night of Pavetta's betrothal, I had a dream when I passed out in the hall. I was on a ship and there was a little girl with ashen hair. She looked back over her shoulder and asked me if I could hear it. When I asked what ' _it_ ' was, she said it was Destiny. Then I woke up and left Cintra.” Jaskier curled his fingers again, tightening them around the tea cup. “At the time, I thought it might have been a vision of Pavetta as a child, but yesterday, I saw the same thing for real, only it was Ciri. She didn't say anything about Destiny, but the ship was the same. It was like I'd dreamed about that moment years before it actually happened.”

Mousesack listened quietly without comment, sipping his tea thoughtfully. “Had it ever happened before?”

“No. That was the first time.”

“But not the last.” It wasn't a question.

“That first night in the palace, I knew where to go to get to Ciri's room because I'd dreamed of being there before. I'd went to her rooms and comforted her when she was crying.” Jaskier sighed and forced himself to relax as he took a sip of tea and tried to loosen the muscles that had started to cramp up. “I dreamed of her as an infant once. She was crying and I picked her up and started singing until she calmed down. I had no idea she was real at the time. I knew it felt like more than just a dream. But. . .I had no idea what was happening.” He still didn't and while he felt like he'd finally found where he was supposed to be, it still felt like something was missing.

“Have you had any more dreams like that since you arrived in Cintra?”

Jaskier's lips thinned and he stared at the empty fireplace. “I've been dreaming about Geralt.” He set his cup down before he dropped it. “But I don't know if that's the same or just. . . stuff I'm dealing with.”

“Though he may wish otherwise, Geralt is tied to Destiny as tightly as you are. And the moment that he claimed the Law of Surprise, it sealed his fate.” 

“He tries to ignore it.” Jaskier slumped in the chair. “He tries to ignore everything.” He shook his head. “And he doesn't intend to take Ciri away from Calanthe and Eist. But I think she's tied to him just as tightly as I seem to be tied to her.” Taking a deep, calming breath, he looked at Mousesack directly. “I think she may have brought him back from the dead when she was born.”

Mousesack's brows rose up into his hair. “What leads you to believe that? Necromancy is dark, forbidden knowledge.”

“He died and I . . . tried.” Jaskier blew out a rough breath. “Yennefer was there and she couldn't do anything. And then she left me.” He swallowed. “I could have brought him back myself,” he said quietly. “I felt it.”

“At too high a cost.” Mousesack's voice was grave and quiet.

Jaskier shrugged. “It would have killed me, but he would have lived. I thought about it for a minute, but I . . . I knew it was a bad idea. I couldn't do it. But there was something else. Some other magic that wasn't mine. I thought I heard a baby crying but dismissed it as the wind. Whatever happened, it hurt. That much magic in one big burst.” Jaskier picked up his tea and sipped it again. “It was. . . a lot.”

Mousesack set his cup down and sat back in his chair, his expression turning inward. Jaskier sat quietly and let him mull it over. That was a lot to process all at once. 

“Would you indulge me by telling me everything you can remember? I need as much information as possible if I'm going to help you.” He tiled his head when Jaskier didn't say anything. “That _is_ why you came to me, is it not?”

“It is. But I. . .what can you do? I don't even know what _I'm_ supposed to do.”

“Let's start from the beginning and we'll go from there.”

*******

The next couple of days were spent pleasantly, if absently settling in to a new place. Jaskier hadn't been in Cintra long enough to really feel settled before they came here. But they'd remain here the rest of the summer, only sailing back to Cintra at the first brush of autumn. Two months in the Isles before returning to the mainland. Jaskier wanted to see more of local landscape, but he wasn't interested in seeing any of the other islands since he didn't want to set foot on a ship until they were ready to leave. He was going to stick to Ard Skellig if he could help it.

His talk with Mousesack the other day had been a little less than illuminating. Jaskier had told him everything starting with the banquet. He didn't get into his family history and the other man hadn't asked, but he was sure it would come up eventually. After telling him everything, Mousesack had asked a few questions about his experiences and how he'd felt before, during, and after each one. Then he'd politely ushered him out the door, while assuring him that he was going to research what they'd talked about. He asked him not to mention their discussion to anyone else. 

Now Jaskier was on his own, strumming his lute idly on one of the many balconies overlooking the ocean. It was extremely high up here, but if he stayed away from the edge, he could convince himself that it wasn't so bad. The sky was clean and clear and a fresh briny breeze blew up from the waves below as seabirds wheeled high above. It was pretty here, if a bit chilly even in the summer. He wasn't sure what it would be like in the winter, but after spending several winters tucked up into the mountains of Kaer Morhen, he figured he'd could deal with it well enough.

When his fingers started to chill enough to falter on the strings, he headed back inside. As he reached his room, he saw Corbyn at the end of the hallway. His posture was a bit stooped and he moved carefully, favoring his right leg. Jaskier set his lute down outside his door and moved quickly down the hallway to put a supporting hand on his arm.

“Are you alright?” he asked him quietly, ignoring the pang in his chest that made him want to panic. He'd seen Geralt come back from a hunt in worse condition before. Corbyn wasn't even bleeding that he could see. 

“Just. . . tired. I'll be alright.” The Witcher moved to open the door next to them but Jaskier guided him further along down the hall to his own room. He wasn't going to leave him to nurse his wounds alone and he had supplies in his travel pack. Corbyn didn't fight him as he was set down in one of the chairs by the fireplace.

“So. Sirens. How did that go?” Jaskier asked as he grabbed his lute from the hall and brought it in before going over to stoke the low fire in the hearth. 

“Well enough.” Corbyn closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his head fall back against the high back of the chair. “They're annoying, but not terribly difficult.”

“Like Harpies?”

Corbyn cracked and eye open to look at him. “They're alike, but Sirens are prettier. And more viscous.” Closing his eyes again, his sighed. “And they have a lot more teeth,” he muttered. “They're more likely to try and drown you as well. Forgot I didn't have gills for a minute.” Relaxing further in the chair as the fire started to warm the room, he hummed thoughtfully. “I could have gone to my room. I'm not badly injured and the few bruises I received have already healed.”

Jaskier felt a flush creeping up his neck. “Reflex, I guess. And you were limping. Didn't want you to be on your own.” He picked up his lute again and sat in the other chair. Strumming it helped settle him and the soft sounds filled the room. 

Corbyn sighed again, nibbling his lower lip in an odd show of nerves. “It's just a strained muscle. It was nearly severed once and the cold makes it ache. I'm fine. But the company is nice,” he said. “It's certainly a nice change of pace.”

“You spend a lot of time alone?”

The Witcher shrugged, making the medallion shift across the fabric of his shirt. “Wasn't interested in anyone.” Opening his eyes, he regarded Jaskier with a steady unblinking gaze. His cat eyes was a deeper shade of amber than the other Witchers and the slit pupils were open a little wider in the dim interior of the room. “And I'm still a bit out of practice around people after a century in the sea.”

Jaskier hadn't forgotten necessarily, but he hadn't considered what effect that would have on the other man. When Jaskier had first met him, Corbyn had been cursed to be a mute merman who could only speak underwater. And from their estimate after Jaskier had broken the curse, he'd been trapped under the sea for nearly a hundred years. 

“No mermaids caught your eye?” Jaskier asked with a teasing smile.

“No.” Corbyn's chuckle trailed ghostly fingers along his nape. “Just Vodyanoy and a couple of Nereids that weren't interested in socializing. The Mer steered clear of me because I wasn't natural and my presence disturbed them.”

“I'm sorry you were alone for so long.” Jaskier kept playing, shifting the melody to something soothing while trying to keep it from being too maudlin. 

“It's better now.”

“Even though Correl is gone now?” Jaskier regretted mentioning him when Corbyn's brow furrowed. King Correl had ruled Cintra the last time Corbyn was on the land before he was cursed. From the way he spoke his name, it made Jaskier think they were more than just acquaintances. Seeing the echo of pain hurt and it reminded him of his own loss. 

“Correl was. . . kind. He did not hate and fear Witchers the way others did. Traveling the roads now is more of a gentle gamble. People are not so violently opposed to my presence as they used to be even when they don't want me near them. Sometimes they are welcoming.” Corbyn looked to the fire. “But you are one of the only people who genuinely enjoys seeing me.”

“Ciri was thrilled to see you.”

Corbyn's lips curled in a fond smile. “Children are immune to such prejudices. They have not yet learned what it means to fear and hate.”

Jaskier thought of how much Ciri hated Donna and wondered how much of it had been instinct. She certainly hadn't learned it from anyone since none of the adults around her had seen through the woman's ruse. 

“I do genuinely enjoy seeing you,” Jaskier said quietly as he stilled the strings, leaving them in the quiet with only the hush of the waves outside in the background. “I wanted to talk to you more on the ship, but. . .” Jaskier sighed. “Too many people. And then you went hunting.”

“Three people had been killed by the Sirens. I wanted to speak to you as well, but the contract couldn't wait.”

“No, no. I understand. I'm not mad about that or anything.” Jaskier found himself at a loss for words. The door burst open and Ciri scampered in. He had only moments to set his lute aside before she clambered up into his lap. Jaskier spared a withering glance for Harrison who just shrugged and grinned before closing the door again. Returning his attention to Ciri, Jaskier tried to remain stern. “What have I said about knocking?”

She had the grace to look sheepish for a moment before grinning and holding up a handful of small shells, mostly periwinkles, a few whelks, and a large cockle shell. 

“I found these on the beach!” 

Jaskier smiled. “We should clean them up and let them dry so you can keep them.”

Ciri wiggled down to the floor and took them over to show her trophies to Corbyn who marveled at them appreciatively before she knelt at the hearth and laid them out before the fire one by one. “We're having fish for dinner,” she said as she wrinkled her nose and rearranged the shells. She couldn't seem to decide whether to organize them by size or by color. 

There was a scratch at the door before it opened to admit Fiske the cat who trotted over towards Ciri. Halfway there, his hackles rose and he crouched low to the ground as a growling snarl gurgled in his throat. He hissed and spit at Corbyn who remained relaxed and still where he sat in the chair.

“Fiske,” Ciri said. “What's wrong?” She reached out before Jaskier could stop her and the cat clawed at her before running back out the door in a panic. Ciri cried out and cradled her hand to her chest as tears welled in her eyes.

Jaskier was out of his chair immediately and kneeling next to her, crooning softly to calm her as he examined the wound. Harrison was in the doorway assessing the room quickly. 

“It's just a scratch. Nothing to worry about,” Jaskier told him. Harrison nodded and went back into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him. The scratch was just a small mark on the back of Ciri's wrist and it wasn't even bleeding. It seemed her upset was more from shock than pain. Ciri bit her lip as it quivered and she curled into Jaskier's chest.

“Why was Fiske so mad?” she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“I'm sorry little one,” Corbyn murmured sadly. “Cat are not fond of Witchers and I fear my presence upset him.”

“Buy why?” 

“Sometimes, even animals are afraid of things they don't understand,” Jaskier said as he picked her up and brought her into the bedroom so he could wash the wound. Small or not, he didn't want it to get infected. He set her down on the bed before pouring water into the basin from the waiting pitcher. Then he cleaned the scratch and put some salve on it from his traveling pack. When he was done, he wrapped a clean strip of linen over it and tied it securely. 

“There,” he said as he pulled out a clean handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “All better.”

Ciri sniffed and nodded before sliding down to the floor and going to the door where Corbyn stood watching them. Ciri tugged on his tunic until he knelt down in front of her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly. 

“I'm not afraid of you,” she said into the fabric of his collar. 

Corbyn looked at Jaskier helplessly before gently hugging her back. “I am glad to be held in such high esteem, Princess.”

“Ciri.”

“Hmm?” 

She pulled back to look at him. “Ciri. Not princess.” She took his hand and started leading him toward the door. “You're coming to dinner with us.” Looking back over her shoulder, she held out her other hand for Jaskier. He went over and gave Corbyn an amused look as he took her fingers gently in his. There was no use arguing with her.

He was strangely proud of his brave, open minded child. There would no doubt be challenges in her future, but looking beyond the surface and seeing people for who they really were would be to her benefit.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I hope your week has been going well.

After dinner, Jaskier sang for Ciri, taking requests that were mostly her favorite songs about Geralt and Witchers. Eist gave him a fair amount of dry looks throughout the performance but didn't say anything. Hjalmar peppered him with questions between songs, switching between asking Jaskier about his knowledge of Geralt and Witchers in general and prying reluctant answers out of Corbyn who seemed baffled to be included in the conversation. Jaskier saved him by reminding the children that if they wanted to go out fishing in the morning, they'd need to get to bed early. Both complied grudgingly, but allowed themselves to be led to bed.

Jaskier headed off to his room with Corbyn trailing behind him. The Witcher glanced back behind him where Harrison followed. “Do you always have supervision?” he asked quietly.

“I do now,” Jaskier said as he opened his door and held it open in invitation. Corbyn came closer and brushed against him on the way in even though there had been plenty of room to pass without touching. Jaskier sighed as he closed the door and locked it. Harrison had a key if he needed to get in, but it was mostly because he didn't want any interruptions from tiny, inquisitive minds tonight. Or in the morning, he thought with a flutter in his chest. He leaned back against the door and set his lute aside. “I nearly got murdered my first week in Cintra.” Jaskier shrugged when Corbyn's gaze sharpened. “It earned me an escort and I don't go anywhere on my own anymore.”

“Almost dying in your first week. Is that normal for you?” The other man knew about Jaskier's rather haphazard relationship with safety, but he hadn't been there for most of it.

“No, that was actually a record for me. And it was twice in two days,” he said, grinning sheepishly as Corbyn gave him a flat look. “But I'm fine. Just another scar and a hell of a lot more caution.” 

Corbyn came closer, holding his gaze. He stopped close enough that the warmth of him started to seep through Jaskier's shirt and he had to look up since the other man was several inches taller than him. Taking a chance, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around his chest so he could reach the tie that held his braid secure. Working it loose, Jaskier started unraveling the twisted strands. When he got as far as he could reach, Corbyn raised his hands to finish loosening his hair so it could fall loosely over his shoulders. There was a tight, crinkling wave from where it had been twisted in the braid for so long. Jaskier wanted to see it free flowing and loose. 

“Doesn't long hair get in your way?”

“Hmm. I've learned to adapt.” Corbyn's breath feathered over Jaskier's face. “I've never cut it beyond trimming.”

“I'm glad you haven't,” Jaskier murmured. He reached up and gently tangled his fingers in Corbyn's hair, tugging lightly. The Witcher's lip curled and he sucked in a breath, but he didn't tell him to stop. Corbyn hadn't touched him so far which made Jaskier hesitate briefly. But this was a Witcher. He was faster and stronger than him and he wouldn't let Jaskier do anything that he didn't want. “Is this okay?” he asked, not wanting to leave it to chance. 

Corbyn's mouth warmly closing over his own was answer enough. Jaskier hummed against his lips and pressed closer. Gods, he was so warm and when his arms came around Jaskier's back and pulled him in tighter, he nearly melted into him. Corbyn had kissed him underwater once when Jaskier been choking on a breathing potion that hadn't worked quite fast enough, but it had been nothing like this. 

They ended up on the bed half dressed as they pulled the rest of each other's clothing off one piece at at time. Jaskier put his mouth on all of Corbyn's scars and the Witcher traced careful fingers over the marks marring Jaskier's skin, frowning at each one. 

“You have nearly as many scars as I do,” he murmured unhappily as he lingered over the bullet wound in Jaskier's left shoulder. “A Modern weapon?”

“Handgun.” Jaskier said as he lay back. 

“And the cut?” There was a white line below the bullet wound from a sharp cut that had sliced open his arm. 

Jaskier sighed. “Magic. Don't ask. It's too complicated.” Jan had wanted to test Jaskier's healing abilities and he'd cut his arm so he could heal it with his music.

Corbyn moved on without comment and put his hand over the claw marks on Jaskier's chest. “Were.”

“Werecat,” Jaskier confirmed as Corbyn's fingers trailed lower, making his belly quiver. The thin lines there were paler since the original wounds had been so shallow. He smirked at Corbyn's questioning brow. “Striga.”

“A unique beast for a unique bard.” Corbyn brushed his lips over the pales scratch marks. 

Jaskier closed his eyes as ripples of sensation spread through him. He gasped quietly and let the breath out slowly. Corbyn was a hesitant lover, probably because he was afraid of his own strength when with a human partner. Jaskier took the time to reassure him that he wasn't fragile, urging him on and making gentle demands in turn. And when he fell asleep, it was a deepest slumber he'd had in weeks.

*******

Jaskier woke in bed alone and his breath heaved shakily in his throat as a sharp pang of sadness filled him. It took a moment to remember where he was. He wasn't in Kaer Morhen or Cintra. This was Kaer Trolde. He'd just spent the night with Corbyn and the other man had left sometime in the night while he slept. The sadness shifted to disappointment. It wasn't regret. If given the choice, he'd do it all over again. But he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting really. 

Late morning light was streaming through the window and he'd probably slept through breakfast. The children would be out on the ship by now fishing with Crach and Eist. And Olaf, probably. Jaskier had the day to himself and he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do. Staying in bed seemed like a great option, but he needed a bath and he was hungry, so he'd have to wander down to the kitchens to charm something out of Hilda.

During their mutual exploration last night, Corbyn had been most disturbed by the knife wound in Jaskier's back. He'd held Jaskier close in a moment that had nothing to do with passion. It was empathy and a bit of fear, if he hadn't been mistaken. Anyone who said Witchers didn't feel were clueless idiots. Jaskier wondered where he'd gone. Probably back to his own room, and then maybe out to a hunt. That's why he'd come to Skellige after all.

Getting up and pulling on a robe, Jaskier went into the other room so he could ask to have the tub filled. He stopped in the doorway when he found Corbyn meditating on his knees in a patch of sunlight. The other man opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him, his pupils now slitted tightly in a thin line to keep out the light, leaving them swamped in glowing amber.

“Good morning.”

“Ah. Hi. I thought. . . never mind. Gonna take a bath. Be right back.” He poked his head out the door and had Harrison flag down one of the household staff so the bath could be filled. To his surprise, they brought up breakfast as well. Apparently, Hilda wanted to make sure he got something to eat since he'd missed the morning meal. He'd have to nip down later and thank her personally. After bathing quickly and dressing in a peach colored doublet and trousers, he sat by the fire in the main room and split the breakfast tray with Corbyn. 

“You thought I'd left,” Corbyn said as he spread honey on a warm biscuit.

Jaskier looked over as he crunched into a piece of toast. “Yeah. It would have been fine if that was all. . . it would have been fine.” He nibbled at the toast until he finished the piece before washing it down with some really strong tea. 

Corbyn's lips curled as sipped his own tea, seemingly amused by Jaskier's fumbling. “I meditate in the morning when I can, and I didn't want to disturb you.”

“Right. So where are you off to now?”

“Nowhere in particular. I'm in no hurry.”

“Oh.” Jaskier smiled into his mug. It wasn't the most elegant morning after, but certainly not his most awkward either. “What do you usually do when you have time to yourself? I have no plans today, myself.” 

“Rannvaig is actually quite beautiful and the coast isn't nearly so foreboding now that the Sirens have been cleared. Are you up for going for a ride?”

“That sounds lovely, actually.” Jaskier thought about it for a moment and realized how long he'd been in one place while in Cintra. Sailing didn't count. With the exception of living in Kaer Morhen in the winters, he rarely stayed in a single location for very long. And he missed traveling. This would just be a quick day trip, but he was really looking forward to it now.

Corbyn's smile deepened. “Allow me to gather a few things and get my horse ready. I'll meet you at the gate in an hour.”

“In an hour, then.” Jaskier watched the Witcher finish off his plate and then give him a small bow before leaving the room. When he was gone, he called Harrison in. “So I'm going out with Corbyn today. Are you supposed to go with me absolutely everywhere or do you ever get time off?”

Harrison opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again. “I'm supposed to stay with you.”

“Even though I'll be with a Witcher? I'm pretty sure he can handle anything that comes our way. And I'd like some. . . privacy.”

A muscle ticked in Harrison's jaw. Jaskier hadn't been obnoxiously loud last night, but he hadn't been all that quiet either.

“I'll check first, but I guess that would be fine. As long as you're not alone with strangers.” He gave him a pointed look.

“I'll be extra careful. I promise.”

Sighing, Harrison headed off down the hall. Jaskier closed the door again and went to put some things together. If he was going to be out all day, he wanted to be prepared. And he was definitely bringing his lute. 

When he was ready and an hour had passed, he went down to the stables. He had to cross the bridge over the chasm outside the keep and travel down the winding path toward the open area where a handful of buildings had been carved out of the rock. The stables sat just above the town so they were accessible from the keep, but closer to the fields where the horses could graze. Corbyn stood in the yard with a tall, gray muscular horse. It was one of the largest Jaskier had ever seen and it looked like it could have been fearsome warhorse. But the foolish look on its face as it stretched its neck out under Corbyn's fingers made it appear a bit more gentle.

“Well, aren't you a gorgeous creature,” Jaskier said as he came closer. He stopped a few feet away, unsure of how the horse would react to strangers. Being nearly kicked by a skittish gelding once was more than enough to make him cautious. But the huge horse came right over and leaned down to nudge his shoulder and he smiled. “Hello, there.” 

Corbyn watched in fond amusement. “Of course, he likes you,” he muttered. “This is Cal. He usually scares the grooms, but you walk up and he treats you like his favorite person.”

The horse turned and huffed at the Witcher. It sounded oddly like an admonishment. Corbyn just rolled his eyes. 

“Hello, Cal. I'm Jaskier.” Jaskier closed his eyes briefly as Cal snorted in his face. 

Corbyn mounted and held his hand down for Jaskier so he could pull him up behind him. 

“How far are we traveling? Should I see if I can get a mount from the stable master?” He rode with Geralt occasionally, but usually only for short distances. Roach was amenable most of the time, but it did put some strain on her back. Cal was obviously bigger, but he wasn't sure how long it would take to get to Rannvaig.

“He can carry me and the weight of a large carcass with ease. He'll be fine, but it was kind of you to ask.” 

Jaskier let himself be pulled up and they set out slowly through the town that curled around the inlet below the keep. They sped up once they got to the main road out of town. It really was beautiful here with clusters of trees along the hills and a brisk breeze coming in off the sea. The coast came in and out of view as they passed over hills and around greenery and outcrops of rocks. 

Jaskier hugged Corbyn around the waist and wondered what it would be like to travel with him. He was quiet spoken and polite almost to a fault. Jaskier didn't think he'd ever actually seen him angry. And he'd never been with him on a hunt before. They'd always spent time together in towns. He wondered if there would be a difference in how he approached a fight and handled himself in battle. Jaskier didn't have much for comparison because Geralt was the only Witcher he'd seen face down a monster before. 

They didn't really speak, but they didn't need to. There was a peaceful stillness to their surroundings that didn't need the interruption of words. Only the sound of the wind through the trees and the call of seabirds floated on the air around. The soft beat of hooves on the dirt track and Cal's occasional snorts were an undertone to the natural song. If the horse felt overburdened with two riders, he didn't show it. But he did seem to preen a bit and Corbyn had to nudge him back on track more than once. 

When they came to a crossroads somewhere south of where they'd stared, Corbyn urged Cal up a smaller trail that headed into the hills. They ended up in a small clearing on a cliff overlooking an inlet. The small bay of water was fed by a river coming down from the mountains above them. Jaskier dismounted by sliding down Cal's tall flank and went towards the edge without getting too close. It was a picturesque spot where he could see for quite a ways. Farther down, Jaskier could see the main road crossing the inlet with a sturdy looking bridge. In the distance was a cluster of buildings that must be Rannvaig. There were small boats on the water outside of town, but it was too far away to make out individual people.

“It's nice up here,” he said as he let the breeze blow across his cheeks and ruffle his hair. There was a freedom in being outside that he was starting to miss while cooped up in palaces and keeps. He wondered how he was going to cope long term.

“What's that face for?” Corbyn asked him. 

Jaskier turned to see the other man pulling a blanket out of the saddle bag along with a smaller pack. “Sorry. Just. . .thinking. Things have either been moving too quickly or I've been distracted. It's . . . I'm just taking a moment to consider what's been happening in my life.”

Corbyn spread out the blanket on the grass while Cal wandered away to graze. Setting his sword aside, he settled down and when Jaskier sat down beside him, the other man pulled out a bottle of wine. And a block of chocolate. Jaskier lips curled in a small smile. When he'd first met Corbyn back when he'd still been cursed as a merman, Jaskier had brought supplies to the beach and cooked for him. It had been the first solid land-based food he'd had in decades and the Witcher had been touched by the gesture. They'd ended the meal with wine and chocolate.

“I'm not going to attempt to cook for you,” Corbyn said with a sheepish smirk. “I doubt it would be anywhere near your level of skill. But I figured this might be enough.”

They shared the bottle and ate chocolate while sitting quietly overlooking the inlet. It was nice to be outside, and Jaskier felt himself relax. Corbyn's lips tasted of wine and chocolate as he snuggled up to him. His lute sat unused in the case. He wasn't interested in signing just now and his mouth was currently preoccupied. Jaskier was oddly pleased with how he fit so neatly in the other man's lap. It was nice to be held. Corbyn had left his hair loose today and it fell in a curtain around his face, like a secret hiding place where they could explore each other's mouths in peace. 

But as Jaskier went in to kiss him one more time, Corbyn pulled back, making him pause.

“What is it?” Jaskier put his hand on Corbyn's chest and was startled by the vibration of the crane pendant under his hand. Cal started nickering nervously, his large hooves pawing the ground as he danced in place, like he was getting ready to bolt. The hairs on the back of Jaskier's neck rose as Corbyn pressed his lips against his ear and breathed a near-silent whisper. 

“Something's coming.” 

He gently set Jaskier aside on the blanket, but before he could reach for his sword, there was a growling roar. The horse screamed and took off into the trees and a huge shape burst into the clearing, bounding to the blanket nearly faster than he could see. Jaskier was shoved roughly to one side over by his lute as Corbyn kicked him out of the way and rolled in the other direction toward his sword. The huge, dark shape was all teeth and claws, its growl making Jaskier whimper as a sharp flood of adrenaline speared through his chest. 

“Run!” Corbyn yelled at him.

How the hell could he run when that thing was right there? Jaskier was terrified of drawing its attention. He still couldn't tell what it was. Corbyn drew his sword and the beast circled him. As Jaskier gripped his lute and scooted back, he saw it was humanoid, but its joints were oddly shaped. It wasn't a man, but it crouched on two legs and its whole body was covered in long shaggy fur. The long muzzle filled with razor teeth was snarling with a sound that made Jaskier feel like a small, frightened animal. A Werewolf. 

This was nothing like Tremaine, the Werecat he'd encountered outside of Barefield. Instead of smooth fur and a more humanoid appearance, this was more animalistic. More primal. 

“Die, Murderer!” it growled with a voice that sounded like broken glass being ground against sharp rocks. It dove for Corbyn quickly, slicing out with its wicked claws. Corbyn was fast, but he was distracted. He kept glancing at Jaskier who was still rooted to the spot, unable to move. But there weren't very many directions to go. The thick trees and underbrush would bog him down and the edge of the cliff boxed him in on the other side. The Werewolf was between him and the path and he'd never make it without being caught. But the fight rolled in his direction and he scrambled out the way, dragging the lute case with him.

But he couldn't just leave Corbyn there. 

“Go!” Corbyn bellowed, sparing him a glace that cost him. The Werewolf's claws caught his right hip, making him lose his stride for a moment. 

Jaskier clutched his lute and hissed out a breath between his teeth before starting down the path as quickly as he dared. It was too rocky to take at a run. He'd break his ankle. But before he got too far away, he turned just in time to see Corbyn get knocked down to the ground and get his sword ripped out of his hand. Jaskier's breath caught in his throat as the Werewolf picked the Witcher up like he weighed nothing and threw him bodily over the edge of the cliff.

“NO!” 

The beast whirled to look at Jaskier and his brain reverted to the simple, mind-numbing existence of prey in the face of a predator. He bolted down the trail, his breath whistling in his throat as he sobbed and stumbled. And then something heavy slammed into him, making him lose hold of his lute. He didn't feel the impact of his head hitting the ground before everything when dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me as I make myself a sturdy fort out of pillows and hide inside of it. I completely forgot where this chapter ended and I had no idea it would fall on a Friday. Oops. But fear not. It's not the first time Jaskier has gotten into trouble, and it certainly won't be the last. 
> 
> Also, change of subject: If you like survival/base building games with items, chests, and inventory that lets you be a virtual hoarder, I highly recommend Valheim. (I'm not sponsored or anything. It's just a great game.) My aging laptop can play it in its current form. It's early access but really pretty and highly satisfying. I plan to spend many hours with my digital Viking.


	28. Godlings and Dopplers and Trolls, Oh, My

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's already starting out to be a hell of a week, but we'll get through it.

Jaskier's head hurt and he couldn't remember what he'd been doing. It was also hard to breathe and it felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest. Humming softly, he felt small fingers on his forehead.

“You took a tumble,” said an unfamiliar voice. It sounded like a little girl. “But your insides aren't as smooshy as they should be.” Warm, little hands cupped his face. “What are you?”

“Smells like Elfses,” came a rumbling voice to his left. “Looks like Humes.” 

A Troll? It didn't sound like anyone Jaskier knew. He was getting a little confused and he didn't know where he was. He opened his eyes and gasped at the dark, fathomless eyes that hovered in front of his face. 

“You're awake,” the child said. But it wasn't really a child, he realized as his fuzzy brain cleared. 

A figure the size of a small child was kneeling on his chest. She was dressed in soft homespun the color of summer leaves and tree bark. A crown of twisted branches and flowers was threaded through her shockingly red hair. But it was her pale bluish skin and dark eyes that made her inhuman nature apparent. A Godling, his memory supplied. He'd seen sketches in the bestiaries in Kaer Morhen, but he'd never seen one in person before. They were supposed to be really rare.

“Ah, hello,” he said tentatively, laying still as he took another labored breath. She was a small thing but weighed more than her small stature warranted. “Would you mind terribly finding another place to sit? I'm having. . .” He struggled in another breath. “. . .trouble breathing.”

“Of course, of course. Silly me. Didn't think you were breathing at all when we found you.” She crawled off of his chest to sit at his side.

“Corbyn?”

“Hm?” The Godling cocked her head to the side.

“Was there anyone else?” Jaskier swallowed as he remembered the last thing he'd seen. “I was with someone.”

“You were the only one here when we arrived,” she said with a frown. “It's supposed to be a _secret_ base.” 

Jaskier glanced around to see stone walls and a cracked timber ceiling. Lumpy, guttering candles lit the space with wavering shadows. If anyone lived here, it had been a long time ago. Cobwebs laced the corners and a layer of dust covered everything save for a smattering of footprints and drag marks on the floor. He grimaced at the dirty state of his clothes. There was a rickety table off to one side and a door on the other that led into another dark room. The Troll was paler than Jaskier was used to seeing and there was a soft waft of cold air coming from his general direction. An Ice Troll maybe?

“I don't know how I got here,” Jaskier said as he sat up carefully. “Where _is_ here?”

The Godling raised a brow. “The secret base.”

“Well,” he said, realizing that he wasn't going to get a location out of her easily. “I'm Jaskier. What do I call the two of you?” Making friends would probably be the quickest way to get more information and maybe find a way to leave. He didn't see his lute anywhere and he wondered if it was in another room or if it was still on the hillside where he'd dropped it. 

“I'm Grace and this here's Krache.” 

“Ices crashes when smashes,” the Troll confirmed.

“Well. It's lovely to meet you both, but I must be going. I need to find my friend Corbyn.” He got unsteadily to his feet and took a step toward the door. A shirtless, well muscled figure with a beard stepped into the doorway and crossed his thick, tattooed arms.

“I think you'll be sticking around for a bit, if you don't mind,” he said. 

“And you are?” Jaskier said, trying not to be intimidated. He traveled with Witchers. A strong looking human shouldn't bother him. But then again, he knew the Witchers wouldn't hurt him. He didn't know this man and couldn't guess what he'd do. 

“You can call my Toby.” The man looked him up and down. “You're the White Wolf's bard. I saw you in Vizima a while back.” 

Jaskier's pulse tripped. It wasn't the first time he'd been targeted for the company he chose to keep, but it had been a long time since anyone had tried to use him against Geralt.

“I used to travel with him, but I don't anymore. That was a long time ago.” Maybe if they thought he didn't matter, he could get out of here. He jumped when a large thump came from the other room.

“Grace!” a guttural growl bellowed. “Come get your feet!”

The Godling clapped her hands and scampered over to crawl in between the large man's legs to get to the other room. She was singing a nonsense song about shoes. Jaskier frowned after her and looked at the man blocking his way again.

“If this is about money, you're wasting your time.”

The man turned his head and spat. “Don't have no need for money. We have a plan and you might need to be part of it.”

“Plan?” Jaskier looked around again and saw some pieces of parchment on the table. A couple others had been tacked to the beams along the wall. They were child's drawings depicting a man surrounded by various symbols and designs. One of them looked like it showed a boulder rolling down a hill and squashing him. In another, he was surrounded by bugs. It might have been anyone, but the white hair gave him pause. Were they planning to do something to Geralt? Jaskier's heart thumped hard in his chest at the thought that he might be here in the Isles. “What do you intend to do?” he asked cautiously.

The man's lip curled. “Nothing the Witcher doesn't deserve,” he sneered.

“But. . . he's a friend to Humanity. Why would you want to hurt him?”

“That'd be a fine thing if I were human.” Toby's features shifted and Jaskier had to swallow as the other man's skin melted and remolded itself. He looked like a common peasant now in a green tunic and hat. Jaskier had read about people like him. Skinwalker? Doppler? He couldn't quite recall. The man's soft expression hardened. “Witchers mean death for my kind. There's not many of us left.”

“Witcha killin much. Krache smashen. No more killin.” 

“Aye. What he said. No more Witcher, no more murders.”

Jaskier's thoughts raced. “He only kills those who hurt humans.”

“And what did my Adalia do to anyone?” A monstrous voice called. Toby was pulled back and shoved out of the doorway so the Werewolf could squeeze his way into the room. He was even more terrifying in the flickering candlelight and the space seemed so much smaller with him in it. Jaskier's mouth was suddenly dry and he backed up until he hit the table. He gripped the edge and turned his face away as the beast loomed over him and leaned into his space. “Adalia was peaceful. Wouldn't even hunt deer for food,” it growled, its hot, humid breath washing over Jaskier's neck. 

“I don't know her. I don't. . .” he broke off in a whimper as the Werewolf growled again. There was no space for him to move any further back. Geralt hadn't hunted any Werewolves when they were traveling together, but he wasn't sure how long ago Adalia had died. Drawing on his dwindling courage, he took a shuddering breath. “What happened to Corbyn?”

“The Witcher? Hrmph. Missed all the sharp rocks and landed in the river. He's drowned and washed out to sea by now if there's any justice in this world.” 

“But he didn't do anything to you.” Jaskier bit back a frightened cry as the Werewolf bracketed him with it's thick arms and dug its claws into the wood of the table. His fear for Corbyn was dwarfed by the terror of the beast in front of him. 

“All Witchers are murderers,” it growled.

“Leave off, Crandall. The boy didn't kill your partner.” Toby came over to stand beside them, his features showing something like concern. 

The Werewolf, Crandall, snarled at him. “He travels with Witchers. Guilty by association.” He turned to huff in Jaskier's face again. “And his songs make them sound like saviors. It's all lies.”

“Shoes!” Grace cried happily as she skipped back into the room, either ignoring or missing the mood entirely. 

“Pretty shoeses,” Krache crooned.

“Come, come,” Grace said, waving a pair of items that looked distressing like hollowed out . . . feet. But they weren't human feet. Not with those long toes and wicked claws. They'd been strung with laces so they could be worn like boots. Jaskier swallowed hard. The smell of fetid blood drifted closer and even Crandall curled his lip. 

“Go on then,” Toby urged Crandall. “The plan won't set itself up. You too, Krache. Go help her set up. I'll stay here with the bard. He'll be plan B.” 

“Well,” Grace said, primly. “Plan A will be a complete success, so he won't be necessary.” She looked at Jaskier hopefully. “But maybe you could sing us a song before you go.”

“I might be able to do that,” Jaskier said with a quavering voice. Crandall was still encroaching too far into his personal space. 

“We'll see you at the meeting place then,” she said happily as she reached up to take Crandall's furry paw in her small hand. She wrapped her fingers around his large, misshapen pinky finger. The Werewolf glared at Jaskier and snapped at the air in front of his face, making him flinch and cry out before letting himself be led out of the room by the little Godling. The Troll paused before following. 

“No scardy Jazz Elfses. Angry wolfen noisy only,” he said in a friendly rumble before he followed them. Jaskier's fear apparently him a little more amenable to the Troll.

“He's right,” Toby said, expression softening as Jaskier sagged against the table. “We won't hurt you.” The Doppler regarded him for a moment. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Sure,” Jaskier said as he forced himself to relax while Toby went over to a stack of crates to retrieve a bottle of something. Maybe if the other man let his guard down, he could escape. “Ah, you didn't happen to see a lute around here anywhere, did you?”

“Nope. Sorry. We came back from scouting to find you in a heap on the floor by yourself. Crandall said he was going hunting. Didn't think he'd bring back a bard.”

“Shit.” With no chairs around he was forced to sit on the floor, but his clothes were already a lost cause. He'd have to see if anyone in Kaer Trolde could mend the small tears at the knees and elbows. The dust and dirt should wash out easily enough and they probably had experience with removing blood. He accepted the bottle and had a moment to think that it smelled familiar before he took a sip and lost his breath from the strength of whatever it was. He coughed as he tried not to accidentally inhale it. “What the hell is that?” he gasped.

“Steady, lad. Mandrake cordial is a bit rough on the palate, but it'll get you where you're going easily enough.” 

that explained the familiarity. It was one of the ingredients used to make White Gull. Jaskier once again wondered how any of the Witchers still had a stomach lining after drinking it. He leaned back against the wall and felt the crinkle of paper behind his head.

“So. What's the plan?”

“That's for us to know and the Witcher to stumble into. It's naught to do with you.” He took a swig from the bottle and belched. His shape shifted a little bit like he was having trouble holding it together. 

“I understand why Crandall is angry. But why do you hate Witchers?”

“Because they kill anything that's not human. That's what they do.” Toby frowned at the bottle. “We're just trying to survive. It's bad enough that the Conjunction fucked everything up and brought all that Tech shit in, may all Modern Cities crumble to the ground,” he muttered. “Humans suddenly decided that they were the rulers of the Continent and started out-breeding the rest of us. They take our land, destroy the old forests, and hire murderers to hunt us for money. It's not fucking fair!” He tipped the bottle back and sucked down the rest of it. 

Jaskier sympathized. The longer he spent in the Wood, the more he understood how gray everything was as opposed to good and bad or black and white. It was much more complicated. Not all monsters were monstrous. Not all humans had enough humanity to care about others. But revenge wasn't the answer.

“Geralt isn't like that. He's never killed a non-human just because he was hired to do so.” There were many contracts he'd refused because there was no need to kill the target. If it wasn't bothering humans, he left it alone. Being labeled a nuisance wasn't enough of a reason for him to kill anything, even when his purse was light. “And Corbyn.” He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He hoped he was okay. “He doesn't deserve to die just because of what he is. None of you do.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Toby mumbled as his head drooped down to his chest. “But 'sjust a thought. Won't bring any of us back from the dead.” 

Jaskier didn't reply and waited until the Doppler started snoring heavily. He was sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out across the doorway. But he seemed to be asleep now. This was his chance to leave. Getting up carefully, Jaskier moved slowly across the room, careful of where he put his feet. There was debris on the floor along with a few torn strips of parchment and he was trying not to make any noise. 

Stepping over the debris carefully, he made it safely into the other room. Candles had been lit and it was brighter now. He gasped and backed up a few steps, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle a shout as he saw the mangled corpse on the table. It wasn't human. Whatever it was, it had been clawed to death and its feet had been chopped off. He bumped into an empty barrel and a bottle fell to the ground, smashing on the stone. The sound was painfully loud in the quiet and Toby's snores broke off in a snort as he started to wake. Jaskier didn't wait for him to get up before he ran for the other door.

“Hey! Get back here!”

Jaskier tore down a short, narrow hallway, careening off the wall as his boots slipped in the thick layer of dust before he burst out the door frame into the open. It was nighttime now and it was hard to see with an overcast sky hiding the moon. The ground was damp like it had just rained. The track was hard to see where it was overgrown and branches kept slapping him in the face. He heard a howl behind him. It sounded like a Warg. 

“Shit!” he hissed before he could stop himself. That was just what he needed. He picked up the pace, stumbling over roots and loose rocks, knowing that it was probably impossible to outrun it. He could practically hear its huffing breath. There was a guttural bark before something hit him in the back, making him trip and fall face first onto the ground. He couldn't roll to alleviate the impact and his knees and the heels of his hands slammed into the rocky earth. The breath whooshed out of him and he struggled for breath as the weight on him shifted. But instead of having his throat bitten out, he got punched in the back of the head by a human fist. It knocked his forehead against the ground, stunning him lightly.

“Stupid bard,” Toby huffed. 

Jaskier was hauled roughly to his feet by the muscled body he'd seen first. “Please let me go. You don't need me.”

“Didn't want to hurt you, but I can't let you run off just yet.” Toby sank a fist into Jaskier's gut, making him wheeze and double over. He couldn't even offer a token resistance as he was slung over the sturdy man's shoulder and carried back through the trees. Pushing through the bruising ache, he braced his hands on the other man's back. 

“You don't have to do this,” Jaskier gasped. “Have you ever tried talking to a Witcher?”

“Nothin' to talk about.”

“How can you condemn a man without knowing him?' Jaskier demanded as he tried to wriggle free of Toby's grasp. He cried out as he felt the nerve in the back of his knee pinch painfully between the other man's fingers. He went limp and the pain subsided when he stopped fighting.

“Just calm yourself,” Toby sighed. “I really don't want to hurt you.” 

Jaskier stared down at the ground as he was carried back inside. He hadn't gotten very far. He tensed when Toby grabbed a coil of rope from one of the crates as he passed by.

“Wait. You don't have to- urf!” Jaskier was dumped onto the floor and rolled onto his stomach. Toby pinned him down as he pulled his arms behind him, folding them against his lower back before wrapping the rope around his forearms “Please,” Jaskier pleaded. 

Toby ignored him and bound his ankles as well. “When it's over, you'll be free to go. Just relax until then.”

Jaskier pressed his forehead into the cool stone floor for a moment before rolling onto his side and testing the ropes. “This really isn't necessary.”

“You've already run off once. You'd probably get lost or eaten by an Endrega, and that would be a shame.” Toby's face and clothes shifted until Jaskier was staring at his own face. 

It was odd to see such a clear representation of what he looked like. Mirrors in the wood were small and getting a full length reflection was usually only possible by using paned mirrors that offered a blurry Image. Even the Cintran palace offered very few large sized mirrors, though he'd learned that was more out of superstition than lack of wealth. Looking at his own face, he realized that he looked really tired.

“When you do that, is it just physical, or do you get some of my memories too?” He couldn't quite remember what the bestiary had said.

Toby started singing with Jaskier's voice, the notes and lyrics of 'Her Sweet Kiss' ringing sweetly and sadly through the air.

“Stop,” Jaskier gasped, not wanting to hear it. Out of every song he knew, why that one?

“Sorry.” Toby seemed genuinely apologetic and he looked away as his appearance melted back into the peasant in green clothing. “You deserve better.” He didn't elaborate and Jaskier didn't ask. They sat in silence for a while until Toby started fidgeting. “I should check on them to see how they're getting on.” He got up and came over to rifle through Jaskier's pockets.

“Hey! Get off,” Jaskier huffed as he shifted under the man's questing hands.

“I really am sorry to do this. I know how much you hate it. I'll come back and let you loose later. I promise” He pulled out Jaskier's clean handkerchief and drew the fabric out diagonally before tying a knot in the center.

“No, wait!” Jaskier turned his head and tried to keep his mouth shut, but Toby pried his jaw open and shoved the knot behind his teeth before pulling the gag tight behind his head and tying it off. He hummed angrily behind it, trying to push it out with his tongue, but it was too tight.

“Just sit here quietly and it'll be over soon,” Toby murmured. With that, he went through the door, leaving Jaskier alone. 

Jaskier yelled angrily behind the gag before sagging back to the floor. He twisted his hands, but the knots had been tied too tightly and he couldn't reach the ends. Bending his knees didn't bring the knots at his ankles close enough to reach, so he couldn't even get his feet free to walk out of here. He wasn't getting loose on his own. He'd have to wait until Toby came back. If he came back. If he pissed Geralt off enough, he might not live to keep his promise. How would anyone find him then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's only one chapter to go and not every loose thread is going to be tied off just yet. Just remember that I have a plan. This story was so long I had to cut it in half, so we're only halfway through this particular story arc.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this may be the last chapter of this installment, the story is far from over. I have a short story that's ready to go and the first chapter will be posted on Friday. Bookmark the series if you'd like a notification or just check back on my profile. Then I may have to take a short break. 
> 
> The next long story is only half finished and real life ambushed me a bit a few weeks ago, so it's been slow going. I've got it all down in my head. Now I just need to get it down on paper. I may take a two or three week break between the short story and the next long one, but I'll keep you posted as I get closer to the end of the short story (which has 7 chapters.)

Jaskier lost track of the time as he lay bound and gagged in the supposedly secret hideout. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he inched his way across the floor to the barrels in the corner to see if he could find something to cut the ropes. All he got for his trouble was frustration and splinters. Just as he was about to build up the courage to move into the next room with the mauled monster corpse, he heard someone coming. The low growl made him press back against the barrels and he desperately hoped he wouldn't be noticed.

Crandall entered the room and immediately turned to the corner he was sitting in, his nostrils flaring. His lip curled, exposing his huge teeth. Jaskier couldn't hold in the whimper as the Werewolf stalked over and grabbed him. It lifted him up and tucked him under his arm so he could carry him out of the room. He smelled like wet dog.

“Those fools,” he growled. “They're soft. Just trying to scare him.” The arm curled around Jaskier squeezed painfully tight, making him whine behind the gag. Nothing was breaking, but he'd have bruises. “I'll give the Witcher something to be afraid of,” Crandall ranted as he stalked out the hideout and into the open. It was still dark outside, but a light rain had started to fall and soon, Jaskier was damp and cold. Only the heat of the Werewolf carrying him kept him from shivering. 

This was nothing like being carried by Tremaine the Werecat, who'd moved primarily by leaping from tree to tree. Crandall loped along at a steady, bone-jarring run. Jaskier wasn't sure if he preferred the nausea inducing tree hopping or the bruising trot. When they finally slowed down, his limbs felt a little numb and he desperately wanted to stretch his arms to relieve the soreness in his shoulders. He bit at the gag and huffed as they came to a stop. 

“You're all soft,” Crandall growled. 

Jaskier looked up to see Krache, Grace, and Toby in his muscular form standing at the top of steep a rise. He couldn't see what lay below. 

“We just wanted to scare him,” Grace said. “But the trap didn't work. Now he's going to get us.”

“If I wanted to kill you, I could have done so easily by now.” The familiar, rumbling drawl made Jaskier whimper behind the gag. It had been so long since he'd heard Geralt's voice. 

“Maybe it's like the bard said.” Toby gave Jaskier and apologetic look before glancing up warily to Crandall. “The Witcher has spared some of us. He doesn't always kill even when there's been deaths.”

Crandall growled and shoved Toby aside, shifting his hold and dragging Jaskier forward so he could hold him up in front of him. The clouds broke, making moonlight shine through. Geralt stood several meters below them down a steep slope. When he saw Jaskier, his mildly perturbed expression immediately darkened and went flat. He was suppressing his feelings incredibly hard. Jaskier found himself mumbling apologies behind the gag. He wasn't sure if he was apologizing for walking away on the mountain or getting caught. But he stiffened as a huge, clawed hand curled around his throat.

“Throw down your weapons,” Crandall growled menacingly.

“I'm willing to let you all walk away,” Geralt said, his tone dangerously even and quiet. “If you leave him unharmed.”

Crandall rumbled deep in his throat and the sound might have been laughter. “So he _does_ matter to you. I was beginning to wonder,” the Werewolf mused. “Witchers are rumored not to feel.”

“You'll understand how much I feel when I'm slicing you open. Unless you let him go and step back.” 

Geralt had cut his hair, Jaskier realized suddenly. Instead of feathering down over his shoulders, it now merely brushed the top of his ears and tapered down towards the nape of his neck. Several days' worth of beard obscured his cheeks and chin. He tossed his head to get his wet bangs off his forehead, making him look a bit bedraggled. 

“A life for a life,” Crandall said as he started squeezing his fingers. “Your bard for Adalia.”

Jaskier coughed behind the gag as his airways was slowly reduced. He could still breathe, barely. The Werewolf was taking his time to draw it out. 

“Oi! Crandall. We agreed not to hurt him!” Toby said, advancing a step toward them. 

“I agreed to no such thing,” Crandall replied. 

“Wofen no skish Jazz Elfses.” Krache stomped threateningly. 

Grace looked frightened, like she wasn't sure what to do. 

Jaskier's vision started to waver as Crandall's other arm started to squeeze his middle while he continued to slowly cut off his air. He wasn't sure if he'd choke to death of be crushed first. His body started to jerk and buck involuntarily as it struggled for air, but he was so securely held that barely budged the Werewolf iron grip. The sound of his pulse thundered in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. All of them were arguing now. Jaskier stared at Geralt. If these were going to be his last moments, it would be the sight he took with him to his grave. If only the Witcher didn't look so angry. The helpless fury on his face was a terrible sight. 

Blackness started encroaching at the edge of Jaskier's vision until all he could see was the faint glow of Geralt's eyes in the moonlight.

And then Jaskier was dropped to land in a limp, coughing heap. The dull sound of Crandall's roar rose above the thunderous pound of his own heartbeat quickly followed by Toby's panicked apologies. Jaskier was carefully untied and the gag was removed from his mouth. Grace laid her cool fingers on his cheeks, sliding them down to his bruised throat as she sang a quick rhyming poem that he couldn't understand. The burn in his throat eased as a cool sensation washed over him and it became easier to breathe. Jaskier slumped back against Toby, suddenly exhausted.

“Jazz Elfses goods now? Why floppy?”

“He's just a little drained,” Grace murmured. “Your song is strong and clear,” she said softly to Jaskier. “So young, but so loud. The trees like you.” 

A screaming roar from below made them all flinch. Off to one side, a shadow rose up on the hill beside them.

“Step away from him,” Corbyn said carefully as he raised his crossbow.

Grace looked terrified and Toby squeezed Jaskier's arm. Krache turned and stood between them, grumbling angrily.

“Twig shooter dumb. Drops now. No hurt Jazz Elfses.”

Corbyn frowned but didn't lower the crossbow.

“It's okay. I'm okay,” Jaskier said, too tired to even think about standing. “Please don't hurt them. They didn't touch me. It was the Werewolf.”

“He's different now,” Grace said sadly. “He didn't used to be like this.”

Corbyn took a deep breath, glancing down at where Geralt was fighting Crandall below, before slowly lowering the weapon. “Are you hurt?” he asked Jaskier.  
“Not anymore. I'm fine.” Jaskier struggled into a sitting position, but that's as far as he got. There was one last bone-rattling bellow from below before Crandall fell lifelessly to the ground. Grace murmured in dismay and bowed her head. Jaskier took her hand. 

“I'm sorry,” he said.

She looked up at him and smiled sadly. “It's not for you to apologize for. He was lost long before we met you.”

Corbyn, carefully sidestepped around Krache so he could kneel at Jaskier's side. Toby stood and retreated a few steps towards Krache with Grace in tow. The three of them huddled together, waiting for what came next. Jaskier leaned against Corbyn.

“Are _you_ hurt? Last I saw, you got tossed over the edge of a cliff.” Jaskier was nearly trembling with relief. He hadn't been sure he'd ever see him again.

“A few new scars, but I landed in the water. I always have a bottle of Killer Whale in my belt now. It never hurts to be prepared.” He rested his forehead against Jaskier's temple and heaved a shuddering breath. “I thought. . . I thought he was going to kill you. That I wouldn't make it in time.” 

“Hn.” Jaskier huffed. “I'm hard to kill.” Though, truth be told, he was rather amazed he'd survived this latest adventure. Footsteps crunching over the gravel drew their attention to Geralt's arrival at the top of the hill. He looked at the three who cowered together, barely sparing them a glance before focusing on Jaskier where he sat slumped in Corbyn's arms. 

“The three of you are free to leave. But harm any humans and I'll come back for you.” He continued to stare at Jaskier as he spoke.

“I think I left something on the stove,” Grace said before scampering off. 

“Fair thee well, bard. Clear roads,” Toby said as he headed off.

“Kind fires,” Jaskier told him.

Krache blew out a long breath. “Stupid Wolfen,” he muttered with one last glance towards Crandall's corpse before lumbering off on his own. 

Geralt stared at Jaskier for another moment, his nostrils flaring before he nodded at Corbyn and walked back down the hill. Jaskier felt like he'd just been slapped. His heart started tripping again and he felt sick to his stomach as he struggled to get to his feet. 

“Geralt, wait.”

Geralt ignored him and went over to the body and raised his bloody sword. Jaskier looked away as he cut off the head. 

“Where are you going? Jaskier called.

“To turn in a contract,” Geralt rumbled flatly.

“Can we just. . .” Jaskier bit his lip. The man had come all this way. For some reason. He couldn't just leave. “Can I come with you?” 

“Stay with your new Witcher,” Geralt muttered before whistling.

Jaskier blinked. What the hell? Roach came trotting up obediently as Jaskier's breath quickened. 

“You're not interchangeable!” he shouted angrily.

Geralt said nothing as he hooked the head to the saddle, mounted and rode away. Jaskier stared after him, dumbfounded as a wracking shiver shook him hard. His clothes were damp and cold now and the night was not particularly warm. 

“Come on,” Corbyn said as he put a hand on his arm to guide him toward a more gentle slope off to the side. Jaskier said nothing as they went down towards the road where Cal was waiting. The horse had calmed and seemed no worse for wear. Corbyn pulled a dry cloak out of one of the saddlebags and threw it over Jaskier's shoulders, settling it in place with gentle hands as he wrapped him in it. Jaskier's lute was safely hanging from the saddle. Corbyn helped him onto the horse and mounted behind him. They rode for a while and it was some time before Jaskier could make himself speak.

“He left. Again.”

“Hn.” 

“Did he find you?”

“No. I was following the Werewolf when he brought you here.”

“How did you know where I was?”

Corbyn sighed. “As you are prone to danger, I put a tracker in your boot. It seemed to work before. I figured it could work again. Isn't that how Geralt found you?”

“No. I removed his tracker. . . before.” Jaskier shook his head. “I think he was already here in the Isles. They'd been making plans for a while with him in mind.”

“Hn.” 

The empty hole in Jaskier's heart ached again. It had never really gone away. He'd just been distracting himself with other things. Would it ever heal? 

By the time they reached Kaer Trolde, the first hints of dawn were starting to kiss the horizon. Corbyn left Cal tied up outside the stables but didn't take him inside. Jaskier wasn't sure why. They went up to Jaskier's room, snagging a servant on the way to have a hot bath drawn. Corbyn laid a gentle kiss on Jaskier's brow before going to his own room and leaving Jaskier to put his lute away and bathe on his own. They'd managed to miss Harrison on the way in, so they didn't have to explain his bedraggled appearance. Fortunately there were no marks on his body thanks to Grace's healing magic. It was like it had never happened and only the memories remained.

When Jaskier was dressed in a clean pair of trousers and a loose shirt, he left his rooms to go see Corbyn, only to find the Witcher coming down the hall with all his gear. Jaskier felt a moment of vertigo as his heart lurched again.

“You're leaving?”

Corbyn stopped, his amber eyes revealing nothing. “Yes. There's a contract in Faroe I need to take care of.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Sometime in the fall, perhaps.” He looked at Jaskier impassively. 

“Oh. Okay.” Jaskier wouldn't be here in the fall. He'd be back in Cintra by then.

There was a quiet sigh from the Witcher as he came forward and set down his pack. “I will see you again. Either here or in Cintra.” There was a heaviness to his words and there was something he wasn't saying. 

“It will always be in a city or town, won't it. We're never going to travel together, are we?”

Corbyn's look was pained before he hid it away. “No.” He took a deep breath. “When the Werewolf had you. . . I. . . I have no idea how Geralt did it for so long. How he took you with him and didn't spend every moment consumed with worry.”

“Oh, he worried,” Jaskier huffed a bitter laugh. “Sometimes too much.”

Corbyn laid a gentle hand over Jaskier's heart, his fingers tracing the outline of the claw marks beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Perhaps not enough. You are mortal. And I. . .I can't do it. I can't live a life of fear followed by an eternity of regret.”

“You're not immortal,” Jaskier told him, his tone harder than he intended. “Someday you're going to slow. You're reflexes won't be enough. Or maybe you'll just be unlucky. We're all going to die someday. Spending your life imprisoned by fear isn't a life at all.”

Corbyn's expression flattened the way Geralt's had the night before. “And spending the rest of my days mired in grief because I couldn't protect you, or because you stumbled your way into danger, is not something I'm willing to risk.”

“You don't seem too hung up about Correl.” Jaskier regretted it as soon as he said it, but there was no way to take it back.

Corbyn picked up his pack and shouldered it, his demeanor smoothing into something the might have been indifference to the untrained eye. “There's a difference between returning to a world where your loved one is merely a memory, and watching the life get choked out of someone you care about.”

Jaskier heard the distinction he'd made either consciously, or unconsciously. Corbyn didn't love him. It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Jaskier didn't love him the way he loved Geralt, but it was more than just _care_ on his part. 

“Safe journey, Corbyn.”

“Kind fires, Jaskier.” 

Corbyn walked past him stiffly, not touching him or saying anything else. Jaskier stood there silently in the quiet keep staring into the distance. It was still early and there was no one about. Harrison came out of his room. It was hard to tell if he'd heard or not.

“Do you need anything?” The other man asked quietly.

“No. I don't need anything,” Jaskier said before going into his room and closing the door. He locked it behind him. He could feel the wave of emotion rising above him, getting steadily closer as it threatened to crash down and drown him. He needed to be alone for this. He went into the bedroom and closed the door before toeing out of his boots and sitting on the bed. Examining the leather of each one, he removed the tracker Corbyn had added. He took out his shaving kit and pulled out the scissors so he could cut the small piece of embroidered linen to pieces. The magic tying it together unraveled as the threads fell apart. 

Dumping the kit on the bedside table, he curled up on the bed and buried his face in the pillow. He hated the sound of his muffled sobs as his whole body shook. But he couldn't stop. It poured out of him. Everything. The mountain. Ard Carraigh and Lara. Corbyn. Every loss tore at his tender, wounded heart. His chest ached and his temples throbbed. Everything hurt. 

By the time he was done, he was empty and hollow again. There was nothing left. He couldn't cry anymore and he couldn't sleep. After being awake for nearly twenty-four hours, minus the brief period of unconsciousness, he should be sleeping. But he stayed painfully awake despite how tired he was. 

When the door opened, he didn't move, hoping that he'd be left in peace to wallow in his misers. But the patter of tiny feet came closer until two sets of worried eyes regarded him while a pair of tiny hands grasped at the edge of the bed. Hjalmar sighed and lifted Cerys up so she could clamber onto the mattress. She came over and placed a small hand on Jaskier's cheek. He felt tears welling in his eyes again and tried to hold them back. Ciri climbed onto the bed and Hjalmar got up on the his other side. Ciri crouched down so she could look Jaskier directly in the eyes.

“It's okay to cry,” she whispered. “It's just us.”

Jaskier sniffed and rolled onto his back, curling Cerys in the crook of his arm so Ciri could snuggle up against his shoulder. Hjalmar did the same on his other side while Jaskier let go and started to cry quietly. It didn't last as long this time and he calmed after a short while. 

“I missed you last night,” Ciri said as she laid her head on his shoulder and stretched her arm across him so she was snuggled up behind Cerys. The toddler was already drifting to sleep. 

“I was having an adventure,” Jaskier said, his voice tired.

“Was it fun?”

“No. It was scary. I met some people that were really scared and they had a plan a that was supposed to make them feel safer. But all it did was make them sad. They lost a friend.”

“Was he your friend too?” Hjalmar asked.

“I didn't know him,” Jaskier said wistfully. “But I wish I'd known him before. Back before his wife died and made him angry.”

“Should I be angry because my mom and dad died?” Ciri asked hesitantly. 

“No,” Jaskier told her gently. “You should feel what you feel. Sometimes it's sadness. Sometimes it's anger. But how can you be angry with the sea?”

“The sea is unknowable and vast and she doesn't care if you live or die,” Hjalmar sage sagely, sounding like some aged sea captain giving wise advice. He leaned forward and reached across Jaskier's chest to take Ciri's hand. “I think she's just a bitch.”

Jaskier laughed softly. He was finally drifting off to sleep. The children would likely get bored and wander off, but he was comfortable right here for the time being.

*******

When Jaskier woke, it was sometime in the afternoon. Like he'd thought, all the children were off somewhere else. He hadn't felt them get up, and there was a warm blanket draped over him. Ingrid was sitting in the chair by the window knitting, the wooden needles silently looping yarn into a woven pattern that would be turned into. . .something. It was a shapeless bit of knotted wool at the moment. She set the needles down when she saw he was awake.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Did I miss something?” He wasn't sure why she'd be in his room.

“No, although we apparently we missed your adventure last night. Aisling was beside herself when she saw the bloody rips in your clothing. She rushed off to find Harrison to make sure you hadn't been injured. Are you alright?”

“I'm okay. I just tripped and fell.”

She eyed him, like she knew that wasn't everything, but left it alone. “It's just as well Corbyn faffed off to Faroe or I'd give him a piece of my mind.” And what a terrifying proposition that was. Ingrid carried herself like she could capably wield any one of the weapons displayed on the walls of the keep.

There was a quiet exclamation from somewhere near the foot of the bed that got closer before the tiny hands returned and grasped at the edge of the blanket where it lay over the side of the bed.

“Jas,” Cerys said as she hopped up and down so she could see him. Jaskier rolled toward the edge of the bed to pluck her up off the floor, sitting up with his legs crossed so he could settle her in his lap. 

Ingrid smiled at him. “You're good with children. Do you have any of your own?” A mischievous glint winked in her eye. “I imagine you've sewed some while oats while on the road.”

“Not that I know of,” he said with a grimace.

“Forgive me for being forward,” she said as she took up her knitting again. 

“It's alright.” He looked down when Cerys tugged at his shirt and he leaned down toward her grasping hands. She reached up to kiss his cheek before snuggling into his chest. “I never really wanted kids,” he said, oddly touched by the simple affection. “Didn't think it was an option that would suit me.”

“Well, you're a natural. And from what Eist has been telling me, you've been a godsend for Ciri.”

“She's a good kid.”

“But you should be careful. She has a powerful destiny ahead of her.” Ingrid put her knitting down once more and regarded him seriously, her expression strangely grim. There was weight to her words and he wondered how much she knew. 

“I know. I. . .” He took a deep breath. “I'm pretty sure I'm part of it.”

She nodded, unperturbed and seemingly not surprised. “Mousesack will help you. He was there when Ciri was born.”

“I've already spoken to him,” Jaskier confirmed. “Though he hasn't had much guidance to offer so far.”

“He rarely offers anything without researching and divining as much as he can first. Trust him.”

“I will.” There was nothing but earnest honesty in her clear gaze and he felt the truth of her words. 

The door opened and two of the scullery maids came in with laden trays of food. They nodded briefly at Jaskier before setting the trays on the end of the bed. Ciri and Hjalmar came in and scrambled up on the bed with him. 

“We're having lunch in bed!” Ciri declared. There were warm hand pies, fruit, nuts, and cheese along with a jug of juice that was set on the bedside table. 

“What's the occasion?” he asked.

“It's Tuesday!” Hjalmar said. “Can we have lunch in bed every Tuesday?” he asked his mother.

She eyed him balefully. “Katya would have fits about the state of the linens. Be careful with the pies, dear and use a napkin.”

Hjalmar treated this like a dire threat and carefully grabbed one of the cloth napkins to eat one of the pies, only relaxing when he found that the filling wasn't dripping. 

So Jaskier sat and ate lunch in bed with the children, feeding bit sized pieces to the toddler in his lap, while chatting with Crach's charming, and incredibly funny wife. She knew some interesting stories and he couldn't wait to talk to her when there weren't little ears around. He had a feeling her sense of humor was dirtier than she let on around the kids. 

He'd spend the summer in Skellige and he would heal eventually. The world would keep spinning despite what had been going on in his life. He didn't know what was in store for him in the future, but at least he could pick himself up and go on to see what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo Boy. This is not where I originally intended this story to end. When I was writing the outline, this story ended long after this. But I realized that the events that come next can't be rushed and I didn't want this story to be overly long. This series has been a learning experience in pacing and scope. I've struggled with how detailed to make each section and where to put the time jumps. But overall, I'm happy with it.
> 
> Trust me in that I'm playing an incredibly long game here. I know where I want them to go and there's a long way to go before I get there (and I do have an ultimate ending in mind even though I don't know how long it's going to take me to get to that point). And while I don't like to spoil things, I do want reassure you that Jaskier and Geralt are destined to be together. Keep that in mind and don't worry. I've got it.


End file.
